


His Corrupted Heart

by FateMagician



Series: His Corrupted Series [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Character Development, Extensively planned outline, F/M, Fantasy, Half-Elven, He can't handle feelings, I love backstory!, Lord of the Rings, Orome - Freeform, Romance, Some Book Elements, Super-detailed outline, Trust Issues, Valar - Freeform, Witch-King redemption arc, damn dreams, damn prophecies, finally they kiss!, gotta love it, more original plot in this one!, movie-verse, originally posted on fanficion.net, second-part of a three part story, working with movie timeline pacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateMagician/pseuds/FateMagician
Summary: Inconnu Naeril has freed the Witch-King's mind from Sauron's darkness, but he remains steadfast in his master's ways and refuses to turn away from his current path despite his conviction having been shaken by her words. A path that will lead to his ultimate destruction.Despite his words to her however, the Witch-King finds that he is unable to forget Inconnu and that it would not be the last time they would meet. Now heavily injured and greatly weakened from the fires of the Fangorn Forest, only Inconnu is able to help him. In this, the Witch-King must learn to trust her in order to not only heal from his wounds, but also for them both to come out alive in face of the coming dangers.For Inconnu, this will give her the chance to free his corrupted heart.|PART 2/3|[Witch-King x OC][Originally posted on FanFiction.net]





	1. Seeking What Was Lost

" _The sad truth is that we're all missing someone..." -Unknown_

* * *

  _ **50 Miles North of Sîr Ninglor (Gladden River)**_

One month.

That was how much time had passed since Inconnu found the Witch-King's blade abandoned in the Fangorn Forest. Buried in the layers of ash from the fire that threatened to consume its master. The Witch-King had escaped however, the fires failing to destroy him due to the design of far greater powers. To be consumed in flame was not his fate. Inconnu has never asked to hold the fate of Witch-King in her hands, but after seeing the fiery destruction of the clearing she had never been so glad to possess it. Though in control of his ultimate fate, that did not mean that other forces could not do other things. One could not kill what was already dead, but they certainly could bring great pain and harm.

Inconnu knew that the Witch-King must have been trapped under burning tree-like being for several hours, the flames trying their hardest to devour all that made up his physical being. She did not know the full and true extent of the damage however, the pain he must be suffering from. Though he was the greatest of the Nine, fire was one of the greatest vulnerabilities they all shared. Inconnu had quickly left the Fangorn Forest astride Sverundr, the new objective of her hunt at the forefront of her thoughts. In a normal hunt she would have partaken in this was the stage where her prey, now greatly weakened, would attempt to make a run for it to somehow escape their fate at her hand.

The Final Chase, as Inconnu called it, the point in time to see which was greater: the hunter or the hunted. This was no normal hunt however, something she accepted the moment she agreed to save him. That day seemed so long ago now, a dream in the presence of Oromё within the broken halls of Carn Dûm. So much had happened since then and now here she was, chasing the Witch-King further north through the Misty Mountains. Inconnu had few traces of him as she followed him, most of them being hoofprints of a stallion.

With this she assumed that the Witch-King was still in possession of his black steed, which would explain why she had not caught up to him already. On his own he would have made much less progress each day and be unable to stay ahead of her. In the first week of this new stage of the hunt, Inconnu had figured this but could not explain why the Witch-King was still out of her reach with the pace she was keeping.

For the past month Inconnu and Sverundr kept a fast pace in order to more quickly find the Witch-King. In this haste, both of them regulated themselves to sleeping lightly and only for a few hours at a time before moving on once again. Sverundr would eat during the times Inconnu was forced to stop and hunt for food and other provisions, and when the food was properly cooked and stored Inconnu would eat as she rode. This wasn't the first time they had done such a thing, but was a rare occurrence. When Inconnu took this into consideration, she realized the one advantage she didn't have over the Witch-King.

The undead do not need to rest, to consume sustenance, nor to stop and replenish provisions.

Each time she had to stop, the further away the Witch-King became.

This irritated the aspect of her that was the Huntress of the North, but there was little Inconnu could do about it. Eventually, the Witch-King would have to stop and it would be then that she would finally find him. What she would do then, Inconnu did not know but she knew would act as the situation would demand. Right now, Inconnu had to stop due to something that had caught her eye. She dismounted from Sverundr, who snorted lightly before lowering his head to graze the tough grass that grew in the mountains. Inconnu had almost missed it in the fading light of the sun, and crouching down the tips of her fingers faintly traced the imprints of hooves from a single horse. It had rained only a few days ago and so the ground was still soft, the impressions deep enough to hold for some time.

"Still heading north..." Inconnu muttered to herself as she stood, a yawn escaping her.

Where he was headed, Inconnu did not truly know. Already Dol Guldur was far behind them, and that was the closest stronghold Sauron held to the Fangorn Forest. Inconnu didn't understand why the Witch-King didn't run for the ruins to recuperate from his wounds and make contact with his master. She didn't know what stopped him, and that was one of many thoughts plaguing her mind in the times she rested and regained her strength to continue.

Though she was truly excited by this discovery, Inconnu released another yawn and knew she could not argue with her body's demand for sleep. In minutes she relieved Sverundr of his tack, and soon both were in their normal resting position of the large stallion lying down and Inconnu resting against him. She did not fall asleep immediately however, but currently stared at the sword in her hands. Inconnu had yet to properly wield _Ghost's Song_ in a confrontation. She had been avoiding anything that might instigate such, and a fight would have taken away time she needed to find the Witch-King.

Time she did not have much of in the first place and so too valuable to waste. This did not mean that Inconnu was careless however, rushing past everything in her haste. Like any good hunter she was careful and swift in her actions. The fingertips of her right hand traced the designs etched into the crosspiece, admiring the craftsmanship and acknowledging the time and care that must have gone into creating this blade. Inconnu had seen Westernesse blades before, and often they had been simple daggers defeated by time.

Other, longer blades she had seen had been carried by the odd traveler or had too been by the elements. The Westernesse blade in her possession however had been well cared for and for a long time too. Obviously, _Ghost's Song_ had been a part of something to have earned its name and the care it had been subjected to.

"What made you special, hmm?" Inconnu said to the blade, even though it could not reply.

She then unsheathed it slightly, further examining the smooth etches on the blade itself. Suddenly, the very last rays of the sunset flashed silver across the metalwork and temporarily blinded Inconnu.

* * *

_Inconnu staggered to her feet, looking around wildly. No longer was she in the Misty Mountains, but a battlefield._

" _What is this?" Inconnu said in a hushed tone, thoroughly confused and unable to gain her bearings at the moment._

_From what she currently observed, the battle that had been fought in this place has only recently ended. The soldiers and their commanders had already left, their dead left to be collected another day. Weapons of various types laid strewn everywhere, their masters more than likely no longer among the living._

_It was a depressing sight to her, seeing the abandoned dead left for the crows in this moment. Heavy breathing from behind her caught her attention and she whirled around. What met her gaze left her in shock._

_There, only a few yards away, was the Witch-King of Angmar._

_Inconnu was to the side of him, but he but acted as though blind to her presence. His form was hunched over in obvious pain, an iron hand gripping his side and the other at whatever was lodged there._

_Inconnu looked down slightly, enough to see what was causing him such pain. Her grey eyes widened and her hands flew up to her mouth to smother a gasp. A longsword had found its new sheath inside the Witch-King, and the hand that did not hold his side tightened its grip on the hilt before removing the blade. It was a smooth motion, quick too, and the Witch-King only growled at the pain he was feeling because of it._

_The Lord of the Nazgûl only glared at the longsword momentarily before tossing away and using to aid in the other in stemming the pain. Inconnu could watch as the scene slowly began to fade away, the Witch-King turning away full from her and walking away stiffly._

_She looked down and saw that the longsword has landed at her feet. A strange, translucent black blood coated the blade nearly to the hilt, seeping into the etches that formed a single phrase:_ Lírё en' i' Ossё.

_Song of the Ghosts._

" _It can't be..." Inconnu managed to whisper to herself before darkness overtook everything._

* * *

Inconnu's hands dropped the sword immediately, letting it fall back into its sheath as it hit the softened earth below with a dull thud. Sverundr lifted his large head a bit, turning a bit to see his rider better. He noticed the sword on the ground and lowered his head to be a little closer to it before snorting. Her old friend looked up at her, Sverundr's intelligent brown eyes questioning. Inconnu sighed softly before winding her finger in his thick mane.

"An unexpected vision... It shocked me Sverundr, and for more than one reason."

Sverundr nickered, encouraging her to go on and she did just that.

"I saw him Sverundr... Er-Murazor, he was injured and alone on a battlefield." Inconnu glanced down at _Ghost's Song_ warily as she continued with, "I saw _Ghost's Song_ there, and it had been lodged in his side. His pain... I had only seen him in that much pain once before."

Sverundr maneuvered his large head so to nuzzle his rider's shoulder, comforting her in his usual way whenever she became like this. First it was the experience, then the shock, and sure enough the emotions took hold and his rider needed someone else to be there too. An anchor to keep herself grounded, and Sverundr was there whenever this occurred. As predicted Inconnu's arms wrapped around the large stallion's neck in a firm hug, glad for his companionship.

Eventually, both friends relaxed and fell into comfortable positions before finally falling asleep.

Feeling quite safe in the company of the other as they had for centuries.


	2. An Impossible Desire

" _...And hoping that wherever they are, they're missing us back too." -Unknown_

* * *

  _ **High Fells of Rhudaur**_

One month.

For this long has the Witch-King of Angmar suffered his wounds. Unlike his brethren in shadow, he did not greatly fear the elements of water and fire. However this did not mean that he was completely exempt from fearing them, and it also did not mean that he was invulnerable to them. His metaphysical being ached and any movement only worsened the pain he felt. The fires that had trapped him were great and it was everywhere. The Witch-King could only see fire as it consumed everything and tried to consume him.

Fire was not man after all, but nature.

The Lord of the Nazgûl was, for the first time in thousands of years, well and truly afraid. To him this would have been an anti-climatic end to his existence. His thousands of years under the command of his master, all his deeds in destroying the men of the north, none of it would matter anymore once his pathetic state was destroyed. The Witch-King knew very well that no one would miss him, and that many a celebration would be held in gratefulness that his darkness was cleansed in fire.

And yet, that wasn't entirely true. Someone would miss him should he have been destroyed. She would have mourned him, the strange woman he had come across more than any other in this half-life he lived. The Witch-King could not remember a time before his master, but the emotions that must have stemmed from those days were only growing stronger and they flourished whenever he was in her presence.

She had been there as he burned in the forest, and so there those emotions rose and he could not remain impassive as she had looked at him with both shock and pity. No, not pity. Grief. He did not need to breathe but still released a shaky breath through mortal habits now returning as he remembered. He knew now that Inconnu Naeril had not truly been there, and yet her hands as they held onto his had felt so very real. Those hands had made him forget the pain of burning and she grounded him.

For the first time in thousands of years, he had known in that singular moment that he was not alone. This feeling was not the same he felt of the other Ringwraiths. They were brothers yes, but this intuition spoke of something far greater. The Witch-King knew she promised his true redemption. He knew that she was not lying either, but his hesitance remained. Dare he believe in that promise of light? Could he believe in a future after all the things he had done?

This stopped him cold and the Witch-King searched within himself for the cause of such thoughts. He had never felt guilt for his actions, only the satisfaction of having brought ruin and furthering his master's cause. However, his master seemed to no longer be the dominating presence anymore. The Witch-King could not seek guidance from his master for he was silent. He could not find it with Inconnu for she was not here.

Er-Murazor only had himself, and in this realization he found himself so very lost.

Time had become irrelevant to him for some time now, barely noticing its passage. Everything was internal, the outside world having lost much meaning to him. He was a wounded creature and he knew it. His sword lost in the ashes of the Fangorn Forest, and his black horse killed by one of the many predators that thrive in the Misty Mountains.

The Witch-King now sat in the darkness, surrounded once again by the hatred of men. The first time this had occurred it did not affect him in the slightest, their magics weaker than his own. This was not the case now in this present time, as though the men who created this place were long since dead, their hatred having only grown stronger with time.

And their hatred of him and his kind burned him far worse than any physical flame.

The Witch-King did not understand why his fleeing from the fires had led him to this place, this tomb that had entrapped him and his brethren after the Fall of Arnor. The imprisonment had not lasted very long however, his master's call far stronger than any mortal magic. A call he could no longer hear, and the Witch-King discovered more absolutely the longer he lingered here that his purpose was missing. Lost, just as his true name had been before she had given it back, and he did not know how hollow he actually was until he knew it had been gone.

He hated her for this, as unreasonable as it may have seemed to others, but he also could not deny the connection he had to her. It was there, almost tangible to him, and yet he tried very hard to deny it. Inconnu Naeril had caused him far more trouble than even Eärnur I of Gondor had when the whelp was still only a Captain. Her words were truth and so cut deep into his soul. The Witch-King could not deny her nor effectively drive her away, not when he also wanted her there at his side.

Yes, he definitely hated her for all she had done to him.

The brief question on whether she would do more to him was easily answered by himself. Deep inside, the Witch-King knew she was hunting him still. Her dedication to a hunt was something he had noticed the night they met outside of Rivendell. Her strong conviction to save him even when he was vehemently against her in that purpose. But was he so against her saving him?

The bitterness returned in a crashing wave. Inconnu at least had a purpose whilst he was left to wait and languish in the darkness.

For what, he did not know.

* * *

_The Witch-King found himself in a great hall, a place where light shone through stained glass windows and grey pillars stood tall. He could tell he was in a castle of some kind, and as strange as this experience was this place seemed familiar to him. A place he had been before, had resided for some time, yet he could find no memory of this place. He was in a state of shock, but was able to move and he found himself drawn to a set of three windows to his left._

_The first image in the glass was of a scene he did remember. It was the day he first spoke to Inconnu as he pinned her to the ground and demanded answers of her. The day he felt the soft touch of a woman for the first time as he was now. There had been no fear in her eyes in that moment, and the image only further proved it._ _That day she had said his mind was his own, and he had not believed her then. Inconnu had been all too right in her words despite his denial. The Witch-King believed her now at least, and the silence from his master was a deafening proof._

_Now he instinctual moved to the stained image in the next window, this one not complete in the very sense of the word. It was clear that there were two people in an embrace, a wild sense of freedom emanating from both figures._ _The Witch-King was given the feeling that this was something that had yet to fully come to pass, an event that could happen should he let it surround and consume him. There was a warmth to this feeling, a heat that would not burn and destroy him as the fires in the Fangorn Forest wished to do._

_The Witch-King did not know what to truly make of it, and so attempted to bury the vague thoughts and his gaze turned to the final window in the set._

_It was a blank canvas for all intents and purposes. Clear with only a few etchings that gave bare hints as to what the full image could become. Dread however filled him and the Witch-King backed away a few steps, to put some distance between him and the cryptic image that threatened to overwhelm him. What he could see though was the faint outline of a sword, and it was indecisive of to whether grant a final redemption or an ultimate doom to its victim._

_The Witch-King backed away some more, the dread becoming underlined with fear. Fear for his own fate._

" _Silas!"_

_The Witch-King turned sharply at the sound of a woman calling out, yet he did not recognize the name. His surprise deepened when he saw Inconnu only a few yards from him, looking at him with an emotion he could not place yet, and then down lower._ _It was then that a small body crashed into his legs and the Witch-King steadied himself and put a hand to make sure that the smaller body didn't tumble as well. When he looked down he saw a child, no older than nine years of age, hugging his legs._

_It was a young boy, latching onto him as if he would disappear if he let go. He had thick white hair, cut short as not to cover his eyes when the boy finally looked up at him. They were a brown so dark they were almost black, and they conveyed a love so profound that the Witch-King was filled with something he never thought he could feel._

_Undeniable joy._

_The boy was then picked up by Inconnu, and looking at them both the Witch-King could see the strong similarities between them. By unseen forces, he turned his head to look to his right and was confronted by a mirror. It was as wide as it was tall, and easily showed him as he used to be. The striking similarities ambushed him as he made the connections between him and the young boy, and he was struck hard by the realization._

* * *

The Witch-King woke with a start, his form shaking quite noticeably and in this moment he was glad for his present loneliness so no one could witness his current state. His mind reeled from the events of the dream, and from the fact that he had a dream in the first place. There had always been darkness, true rest having eluded him for thousands of years. Until now that is, and it left him feeling a confusion of emotions.

The dream was certainly prophetic in nature, both in warning and in encouragement. He had been shown something that he could have, something he could achieve in the future he had been told of. A reward in the light of his redemption and a future not surrounded by darkness forevermore. Inconnu's words had always been tangible to the Witch-King, he knew that with certainty, but now he wanted to perhaps try and grasp them.

Latch onto them as the young boy had onto him.

The Witch-King put a cold gauntlet to his chestplate, resting it over where a heart would beat a steady rhythm. That area where that heart would still beat filled with a new emotion, and with this one he had a name for though he did not dare say it out loud.

"That-"

His hollow baritone choked faintly, this emotion threatening to overpower him.

"That can't have been..."

He struggled to find words that would fit, something that would help him admit this.

"That can't have been a child of my blood..."

However, this denial lasted only a few moments before he forced out the truth of this emotion.

" _How can that be my son?"_

The Witch-King was filled with this emotion called longing, and here he yearned for this inextricable connection to another being. Something he thought to be impossible, but never had he desired something of this caliber.


	3. A True Friend

" _Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light." -Helen Keller_

* * *

 At last, Inconnu and Sverundr had reached the High Pass and now she was only days away from her destination. Her inner hunter was alight with excitement, as her prey was cornered and wouldn't be leaving. The hunt was almost at its end, and Inconnu was certainly eager to finish it after so much time spent with only brief encounters and dreams.

It was far past the time to fully discover the man that was Er-Murazor, who had been trapped by the corruption for thousands of years.

Oromё had given her the reassurance that the Witch-King would not be leaving the dark place he was now in. Like the Witch-Realm of Angmar, the Nazgûl tomb deep within the High Fells of Rhudaur gave off the same sinister-no, sinister wasn't quite the right word to describe the feeling she had felt. Sickening, yes, but there was a better word.

Malignant. There was the sure word to describe such a dark place.

Inconnu could feel the hatred even though some distance lied between her and the Fells. It had seeped into the very rocks of the area, tainting this small section of the Misty Mountains as its own. She could understand it however, as she knew the Men of the North had been broken by the Witch-King's power so long ago in recorded history. That in the end Angmar too was toppled and its terrible king, along with his eight brethren, bound and locked deep within the fells.

Buried so deep that not even the light of day could shine upon the horror chained within the darkness.

Inconnu suspected that, at the time, the Witch-King did not care much for his situation. Only that he was trapped and would soon be freed by his master's power. Now in the present day, she was sure that he was feeling very differently. His mind was his own now and has been for some time. The darkness surely affected him now and in his weakened state it would harm him all the more.

Sverundr suddenly shook his head, shaking out the snowflakes that had accumulated there for about an hour. In an automatic response Inconnu shivered and pulled her scarf up higher on her nose to provide better protection.

The harsher, biting weather was now starting to set in here further north. Soon the greater snowstorms would hit and bury anything and everything in its path. It was at this time of the year when nature was at its cruelest within the Hithaeglir, and Inconnu was prepared for such rages of nature. A brief thought crossed her mind, and she wondered if the Witch-King too was familiar with the snow that could wreak great disaster upon the mountain peaks.

The Witch-Realm of Angmar lied further north, and it made sense that the Witch-King would snow of powerful snowstorms. As one who lived and yet was dead however, Inconnu reasoned that he would not be so affected by this force of nature and its cold bite.

Sverundr plowed onward against the wind, his steps sure as he tread the faint path on the mountain. The snowfall wasn't so thick that him and his rider were blind to their surroundings, but an extra vigilance was to be taken in these circumstances. And was due to this habitual precaution that Sverundr noticed small, running figures several yards away. He stopped and snorted, alerting Inconnu to this new development.

With clear understanding, Inconnu focused on the path ahead and was as nearly as still as her companion. Their hot breath steamed the cold air in small puffs as they observed the darting figures ahead. The small creatures were speaking amongst themselves, their language a strange mix of chittering and guttural sounds. Goblins, and it was obvious that they were looking for something. Or rather, someone, and the Huntress of the North that was Inconnu Naeril certainly didn't want her hunt to hindered in this fashion. As the Wanderer of the Mists as well, she also knew how to not be found.

Quietly she dismounted and led Sverundr off the main path, though it barely could be called even that. There were sparse trees on the mountain but not enough to provide real cover. At least, not without a growing storm to rid most of one's sight of their surroundings. There was a reason why Inconnu dressed in the greys and browns of the mountains, and in a snowstorm she could vanish if the seeker looked away for even a moment. Sverundr too had this advantage and together they carefully tread from the faint trail and around the small group of goblins, steps muffled by the thick layer of snow.

Their chatter remained undisturbed as horse and rider moved past, leaving them to remain unnoticed as they continued. However, Inconnu and Sverundr had to stop due to an all-too-curious goblin who was staring at the dead bush that was large and thick enough to hide the pair from obvious sight. The snowfall certainly helped, though Inconnu aided further by covering her mouth and Sverundr's as best she could. In doing this, the heat of their breath was better hidden from any eyes that were particularly perceptive.

After several minutes of waiting in the sounds of rushing wind and chittering of goblins, the far too curious one left his watch of the bush. Inconnu did not dare move until the grunts and chatter of the goblins faded away in the coming storm. It was only after more minutes passed in relative silence that Inconnu peeked around the bush to find no physical trace of the deviant creatures but for footprints in the snow. She sighed softly and the tension faded from the air. Sverundr snorted in reply and stamped a few times in the snow.

He was impatient to get moving, and Inconnu shared those same feelings though did not display them so openly. She needed to remain calm and alert, though now it was not so necessary to keep their previous pace. They could relax a little more now that the Witch-King awaited in the very place where he was once entombed. By this same train of thought, Inconnu also did not want to relax the pace so much that he would be kept waiting for too long. She had the deep feeling that the longer he remained in his former tomb, the worse he would become.

It was an hour before the worst of the storm passed over, leaving only gentler snowfall. Inconnu smiled as she looked around and a memory from when she was much younger, a mere child, filled her thoughts.

" _Momma! Momma look! Snow!"_

One of the few happy memories of her mother.

" _Well look at that Inconnu, the snow came early!"_

" _Can we go play outside?"_

Bright smiles for them both and pure, honest happiness.

" _Not today, see how fast the wind comes and goes? Tomorrow the wind will have left the city and then we can play all day."_

" _All day?"_

" _Yes my little girl, all day."_

Inconnu sighed as the memory passed. Indeed, she wished there could've been more of such innocent memories where true joy reigned. Of course that would mean that her mother would've had to let go of a secret section of prophecy, and in this forget the shadow of the Witch-King that haunted her every waking moment. Hers was a simple childhood, yes, but the darkness that haunted her mother haunted her too until her mother finally let go of her mortal thread. From there Inconnu had disappeared to the furthest reaches of the north and learned the ways of the hunt, only to return to the city of her birth to pay respects to her mother.

Suddenly a large head nudged her back and Inconnu barely had enough time to flip around onto her back as she landed in the deep snow. Still a bit shocked, Inconnu stared up at Sverundr and the large stallion looked as smug as any horse could.

Completely unapologetic.

Inconnu smiled as she questioned her old friend with,

"Now why would you go and do something like that?"

Sverundr merely snorted and Inconnu raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Very well then, I accept your challenge."

It was now Sverundr's turn to look shocked as Inconnu threw a snowball, one she had made behind her back, which landed neatly on his nose. A fit of snorting commenced as Sverundr tried to remove the snow as quickly as possible before mock-charging his rider. Inconnu rolled out of the way easily and stood up with another snowball. That one hit his shoulder and from there they played a simple game of tag. Inconnu was grinning the entire time, very happy in this moment of time.

They didn't stray so far that was dangerous, and both still kept a careful eye on their surroundings as the chased each other. Inconnu barely had enough time to make a new snowball before Sverundr was charging her again and making her dodge again and again. Despite his size, the stallion could maneuver quite easily when he wanted to. The large snowdrifts provided some challenge however, and this gave Inconnu chances to throw a snowball or two before having to dodge once again. Sverundr snorted when he got a little stuck in a new snowdrift, and when he looked around for his rider. Inconnu had seemingly vanished and the stallion danced in place for a few moments before searching for Inconnu.

The Wanderer herself was currently hiding behind a wide trunk with an arm against her chest that held several snowballs. Her breath steamed the air and she peeked around the tree. To her utter shock, Sverundr was not to be seen and Inconnu was confused. Sverundr defied a lot of conventions when it came to horses, but vanishing hadn't been one.

So far.

Inconnu turned back around, her back pressed against the bark of the tree, and tried to come up with a reason as to where Sverundr could possibly be. That question was quickly answered when a snort came from directly in front of her. Inconnu's grey eyes stared into Sverundr's brown, and a sense of defeat made itself known to her. The large stallion then reared and struck his hooves against the bark, sending the snow collected upon the boughs tumbling down and burying his rider.

After a few moments, he nosed around the snow a bit before Inconnu's head popped up and she shook the snow free from her hair. She was still smiling and Sverundr nickered, the heat of his breath warming her face. After freeing her right arm she ruffled his forelock affectionately and Sverundr leaned into her touch.

"Alright, you win this time."

He was very smug indeed as Inconnu stood to brush the snow off her clothes and clear her hood before pulling it up again. Now more composed she mounted Sverundr's saddle, giving a wary glance to _Ghost's Song_ as she did so.

However, she still held a small, genuine smile hidden behind her scarf as they continued on their way to where the Witch-King waited in darkness.


	4. The Danger Arising

" _Do not misunderstand me, danger is very real, but fear is a choice." -Will Smith_

* * *

  _ **Isengard**_

When Sauron had commanded Saruman to turn the hunt against the Wanderer of the Misty Mountains, Saruman indeed knew of creatures that could achieve such results. It had taken him nearly a month to find the book that spoke of those particular creatures and finally after so long he was ready to summon them to this plane of existence. These creatures of shadow and death would certainly provide a far more difficult hunt for the Huntress of the North, were she the hunter instead of the hunted in this.

Saruman knew, in his own way, that Sauron was getting a little desperate the longer his Witch-King was absent from the field. The wizard knew that the Morgul-Lord was integral to his master's plans for the Men of the West, essential for the final and crushing blow against Gondor. The Witch-King's own second, Khamul the Easterling, had been handling his superior's duties well enough as so far but could only do so much. The Witch-King had broken Arnor on his own power, a strength of magic that the Easterling did not possess. There was a reason after all why the Witch-King was chieftain among the Ringwraiths, the deadliest servant of Sauron.

Now that power missing and its wielder hunted by a woman whose ways in the hunt rivaled that of Oromё, the Great Hunter. But with the creatures Saruman was now prepared to rouse from a long dormancy, that was to change quite dramatically. Currently he stood before a magic circle composed of white, red, and black chalk. The symbols representative of ancient evils and it was in the black tongue of Mordor he cast the dark spell.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav ukhadowuk! Jiak ukummon lat katu now!"

_Return, ancient shadows! I summon you here now!_

The vast room immediately darkened. So much so that even the light of the many candles throughout were only seen as pinpricks. Saruman continued, unaffected by this display of shadows.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav beaukavuk! Jiak ukummon lat for gijak!"

_Return, ancient beasts! I summon you for blood!_

Deep growls infiltrated the darkness, starting off quietly before escalating into ferocious, blood-curdling snarls. The sharp clicks of claws were also heard as two creatures moved across the marble floor, hidden in the shadows. These hunters were circling Saruman, observing, not knowing whether he was master or prey. Saruman felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck but did not dare falter in his spellcasting, because then he would surely become prey.

"Nauk-avurn, ancienav deaavh! Jiak ukummon lat avo hunav!"

_Return, ancient death! I summon you to hunt!_

Now the shadows faded into a black mist, large creatures beginning to take a proper shape from them. They formed within the boundaries of the circle, seeming to take the bodies of Dire Wolves but that was where the similarities ended. Staring at them, Saruman saw bones as black as ink take solid form. Skin and fur formed in patches, making them as if they were undead creatures conjured of some dark necromancy. Sharp black teeth snapped in the air, promising a painful bite and an even more painful end.

Even after the final pieces of these creatures took corporeal form, the shadows still clung to them like a cloak of mist. Their eyes were a pure white, glowing with intelligence and malice. They were trained on Saruman's smaller form as the creature's shoulders reached the wizards full height and even at the distance that was between them, Saruman still felt like he was being towered over. True fear seeped into his mind as they growled.

These were Ravagers, creatures that belonged to the true realm of shadows and its top predators. Born solely for the savage hunt, so unlike the one the Huntress of the North participated in. Saruman then gathered his wits and spoke in a commanding tone, the light of his staff shining menacingly to lend weight to his power.

"Your prey is Inconnu Naeril, Wanderer of the Misty Mountains and the Huntress of the North. Her current Hunt must be put to an end. Permanently."

The Ravagers looked to each other in silent communication, leaving Saruman to try and retain his composure. This lasted for moments that felt like an eternity passing before they glanced at the wizard, agreement plain to him. The next moment they raised their ghastly heads and howled, the dreaded sound a mix between a wolf and a fearsome demon from the most vile of pits. Once the hunters of shadow and death raced from the chamber Saruman collapsed to his knees, grasping onto his staff to keep him upright.

His labored breathing was all he could truly hear, the sounds of goblins shrieking in fear barely noted by his conscious mind. Eventually, there in the gloom of the chamber, was Saruman able to finally stand with a dark smile. He held little concern as to the hunting prowess of the Ravagers, and had a strong conviction that these beasts could end the troublesome Wanderer. However that cruel grin faltered when a single, particular doubt crossed his mind.

After witnessing the power of the Ravagers, he doubted he could control them for long.

_**15 Miles from The High Fells of Rhudaur** _

Inconnu was close, she could feel it in her bones and in the very air itself. The hatred could easily be felt emanating from a particular mountain peak. Occasionally, Inconnu could almost swear she heard faint voices of men speaking in an older dialect of Westron, telling her to turn back and abandon her hunt. Telling her to leave the foul Dwimmerlaik to his fate and let him rot in the tomb made for his kind.

However, the Wanderer of the Mists was not to be deterred by such words. Her conviction was much stronger and she held faith that she could save the Witch-King. The voices could talk all they wished, whispering their ire into her ear, but she would not turn away from the path she had walked since all those months ago in the great library of Minas Tirith. No, she certainly would not abandon Er-Murazor to the darkness.

Sverundr walked a comfortable pace through the snow, driving a fresh path through the deep snow. Its depth proved a minor obstacle for him, and with the snowstorm having passed some time ago Inconnu got the enjoy the scenery as they tread the mountain path. Despite the rather obvious dangers of traveling through the Misty Mountains like this, being in them had it moments of wild beauty. It was also in these moments that Inconnu could find a measure of peace.

Moments were, unfortunately, moments for a reason known only by time itself as they passed quickly and the peace replaced by a more gruesome scene.

It was Sverundr who noticed that something was very wrong before his rider was aware. He only progressed a few more paces before he stopped in his tracks and snorted wildly. Inconnu raised an eyebrow slightly in confusion and dismounted. She moved up to be next to his head and she combed his mane soothingly with one hand while the other rubbed his head. It didn't take long for him to calm under her touch and he actively sought it out too.

"What's wrong my friend?" Inconnu asked softly. "What has you reacting like this?"

Sverundr turned his head a little to the right and ahead of them, his nose moving as to point where exactly the cause of all this resided. Inconnu continued to soothe her companion before grabbing his reins and leading him on to see just what cause him this anxiety. Sverundr was hesitant but did not defy his rider. He knew she would protect him as he did for her. However, what Inconnu found brought her shock and anxiety as well.

There beyond a small rise and not far off the path, hidden from plain sight until the rise was passed, was the body of a horse. It was a stallion for sure, his coat a midnight black, and the trappings that had been left on him were of a fine quality. Inconnu only had to come a bit closer, Sverundr willingly remaining behind yet close enough to have Inconnu in his sights, for her to be sure of who the horse belonged to.

This was the Witch-King's black stallion, and from a simple look over the poor horse did not leave this life peacefully.

Long slashes criss-crossed over the stallion's entire body, the flank Inconnu could see was ripped to shreds, and much of the horse's throat was missing. In fact, quite a bit of the stallion was missing, devoured by some large predator. Inconnu could tell upon close inspection the smaller creatures had taken their share of that predator's meal. A sudden rush filled her veins at the thought of what might have happened to the Witch-King and Inconnu then searched the immediate area for any sign of him.

There was none, and Inconnu didn't know whether or not to take that as a good sign. It also took her a few moments longer to remember her most recent dream of Oromё. Realizing something she then sighed with relief.

_Of course the Witch-King is still in this world, otherwise Oromё would have told me if something more had happened to him._

Inconnu returned to the body of the stallion, now looking for the cause of death. Despite popular belief, large predators weren't commonly encountered. Frequent travelers through the Misty Mountains would tell you otherwise, but such experiences were easily stretched into long flowing tales of grandeur. Inconnu was also quite simply the most traveled of these mountains, but did not dramatically expand upon her experiences with other, wilder hunters.

The previous snowstorm did much to hinder her investigation of the area, having wiped away the tracks of the large predator the stallion's wounds suggested. Inconnu's grey gaze went over the grievous wounds again and this time spotted something lodged in the horse's side. With care she pulled it out and raised it to better see it in the dull winter sun. Sverundr snorted and whinnied nervously when he saw it and Inconnu recognized her find.

It was the fang of a Dire Wolf.

Inconnu only had the momentary warning of a harsh snarl before the snow exploded from a large drift in front of her. Her hunter's instincts took immediate control and Inconnu dropped to the ground as a large form lunged at her, missing her entirely. The next moment saw Inconnu standing up from the snow with her sword drawn and turning to face the creature that had meant to ambush her.

Before Inconnu was a Dire Wolf, its pelt pure white and possessing many scars across its muzzle. Its sides also bore injuries that were much newer, and Inconnu easily made the connection.

_So this was the Dire Wolf that killed the Witch-King's stallion. Judging by the lack of evidence that he was harmed, this Dire Wolf was more focused on the horse than the Ringwraith._

Inconnu fell into a more defensive stance, prepared to end this encounter as swiftly as possible. Behind the Dire Wolf, Sverundr danced in place as he was split between staying in place and racing to his rider's aid. Almost imperceptibly, Inconnu shook her head and Sverundr relaxed slightly as he understood. He was to stay in place. Inconnu could handle this, and he held complete faith in his rider's judgement.

The Dire Wolf growled and snarled, entirely focused on the Huntress of the North. Inconnu remained impassive to the predator's threats, which only served to further anger it. She needed to end this soon, as time was certainly not on her side and she did not wish for the Witch-King to suffer in that dark place any longer. He was not to heal in that place, as that place held no such purpose but only to bring more pain and suffering to him and his brethren. Inconnu then angled her blade to flash light into the eyes of the Dire Wolf.

Temporarily blinded, the Dire Wolf shook its head to try and clear its sight before raising it to howl fiercely. It then charged at Inconnu before leaping into the air again, attempting to bring her down this time around. Like its ambush, this attack failed and its failure ended in death. Inconnu timed her attack dangerously close, only raising her sword in offense when the Dire Wolf was nearly upon her. There was nothing the Dire Wolf could do as it fell onto the sword, the blade piercing into the soft underside of its jaw and up into its skull

The Dire Wolf was dead before it reached the ground, landing on top on Inconnu.

Sverundr neighed with worry, quick to be at his rider's side and fearing the worst from his point of view. These worries were soon relieved when Inconnu roughly pushed the Dire Wolf's body off of her. She laid there, panting and she sighed a little dramatically when she looked up into Sverundr's eyes. He snorted and she laughed softly in reply.

"I know, a little too close for comfort."

Inconnu took a few more minutes to let the adrenaline rush leave her veins before she stood up and looked down at her recent kill. Sverundr nuzzled her for attention and Inconnu willingly gave it, rubbing his nose as she said, "At least no other travelers are going to have to worry about a lone Dire Wolf waiting on the trail."

Sverundr nickered as Inconnu checked the sun's position. She sighed, as the night would be upon them within mere hours. Not enough time to make it to the High Fells, and certainly not trekking through this kind of terrain. There was only so much snow that Sverundr could plow through within a day. Inconnu looked to her old friend again and smiled faintly, thinking of an upside to this.

"Tonight we will rest, and I'm thinking that a Dire Wolf's pelt wouldn't hurt to have on hand either."

As Inconnu acted on these thoughts, she couldn't help but feel that the Dire Wolf was the true threat. No, the Huntress of the North had the uncomfortable feeling of being hunted. By what, that was something she did not know, but for tonight she pushed aside that feeling and went about skinning the pelt from the Dire Wolf by the light of a careful fire.


	5. Found At Last

" _Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for; great enough to die for." -Dag Hammarskjold_

* * *

  _ **High Fells of Rhudaur**_

It was midday when at last Inconnu was able to look upon the mountainside known as the High Fells of Rhudaur, the place where the Tomb of the Nazgûl resided deep within. She sighed in relief, glad to have finally reached her destination after nearly two months worth of travel, and Sverundr agreed with this sentiment. The stallion nickered and Inconnu encouraged him onward, only having stopped to really look at the steep mountainside.

Within two hours they reached the base of the mountain, and with keen eyes Inconnu spotted primitive and very worn steps. They led up so far that Inconnu could only barely make out the end of the treacherous path. Inconnu was confident however that she would reach the top and delve into the ancient tomb. She had to, for his sake. Sverundr gave her more than one worried look as Inconnu removed his tack and set it on a low-hanging branch. He was free to graze, but he kept an eye on Inconnu's progress as he did so.

Due to the Half-Elven nature of her heritage, Inconnu couldn't be more glad to posses her innate sense of balance. She was careful though not to become too overconfident as was proven when she had to leap for the next step, and the one she had jumped from crumbled away and fell far below. Inconnu managed to keep the need to make haste contained and set aside. The stone steps would not tolerate any sort of rush movement, and there were few clues as to when they too would collapse.

Time seemed to drag on a little as Inconnu carefully made her way to the entrance in the mountainside. It was much more visible now, and her chest was slowly beginning to feel a dull pressure in her chest. The whispers were coming back too, stronger now that she was so much closer to their origin. Inconnu did her best to ignore them however, as she was now at the entrance and before her was was like a gaping void. She was faintly hesitant, as any reasonable person would be in the face of such a place.

Inconnu could sense him though, deep within the darkness and she knew she had to bring him out of this ancient tomb. For him she would brave the suffocation of the void, and after taking a deep breath she delved into the darkness.

And immediately Inconnu slid down several feet, the darkness having kept the sudden slope well-hidden. She managed to grab onto the edge and got a good look at the fall before reeling back and taking several deep breaths. Looking around in the slight beam of light coming from the entrance, Inconnu didn't see any simple way down into the tomb's depths. She released a soft sigh and rolled her shoulders to loosen them, then she walked to the edge, crouched and made sure she had a firm grip on the worn stone before slipping off.

Instantly her other hand went for that same edge and held on as her body felt the jarring effect of stopping so quickly. Inconnu took a deep breath in order to even it out and waited a minute before swinging forward slightly and letting go. She landed easily enough onto the next ledge and Inconnu latched onto the weathered iron bars, so broken and twisted, to keep her balance. Another deep breath, and she repeated the same maneuver again to reach the next level.

The further down Inconnu went, the darker the tomb became and the more she understood the meaning of it. Never were the Nine to see the light of day in here. Forever were they to be entombed and sealed with spells performed with such a burning hatred. The further down Inconnu went, the more she felt this insatiable anger and heated desire for the destruction of such beings. If anyone were to hold such feelings would be the long-dead survivors of the Witch-King's conquest of Arnor.

Inconnu understood this, but the closer she came to the end of her Hunt the more she felt that hatred become directed at her. Those vengeful spirits were aware of her intentions and they certainly were not eager for them to come to fruition. Oh no, they wanted the Witch-King to languish in the darkness, for him to suffer for all eternity. Him and all his brethren in Shadow.

That pressure in her chest only grew the closer she drew to the end, and Inconnu had to stop for several minutes this time in order to better combat the dark forces that consumed this place. She did not need to travel far now, only one more drop and she will have reached the bottom level of the tomb. The place where the last entrance of twisted iron would reveal a broken sarcophagus of grey stone, and where the light was only a faint star in the distance so far above her. Once Inconnu felt more composed she dropped down and landed with a faint thud.

Darkness was all the more prevalent around her, and here the remaining Men of the North buried the Witch-King of Angmar. Here in the part of the tomb furthest from the light and it was here the worst of their grief was channeled into raw hatred and power.

Inconnu barely had time to try and look around before that same power slammed into her with sheer force. She was reduced to panting and lightly grasping at her throat as the pressure that had lingered in her chest for some time turned into suffocation. She stumbled a few feet back blindly as the pressure around her grew and Inconnu silently began to panic, the only external sign her increased breathing pattern.

_Never before have I felt such hatred directed at another creature before. So much so that they try and kill any who would dare try and intervene in their vengeance against it._

It was only by the small light that Inconnu was able to tell that the edges of her vision were beginning to darken, and there was little Inconnu could've done to prevent her inevitable state of unconsciousness. The darkness closed in further now and Inconnu's eyes began to roll back in her head, her body prepared to faint.

At least were a new presence had not made itself known, dispelling the hatred if only temporarily.

Inconnu's lungs quickly took advantage, taking in deep breathes of air, but it was not soon enough to stop her legs from collapsing due to weakness. She did not fall to the ground however, and strong and cold metal hands gripped her body. Next she felt herself being held against a larger form, but was unable to speak for a few moments as her mind cleared from the hateful influences cast upon this tomb.

"You should not be here." A hoarse baritone stated, and Inconnu responded by reaching a hand up to feel the rough cloth of what she knew to be dark robes. Inconnu could also tell through touch that much of the cloth was burned. Her hand then gripped them to steady herself further, and her reply was breathless due to her recent experience and in sheer relief at finding the Witch-King at last.

"Neither should you."

Inconnu felt one of his gauntlets make its way to her back and she was brought closer to him. Her mind was reeling slightly at his behavior, but wasn't going to question it now as she was still feeling the exhaustion from the curses that lined every broken sarcophagus. They held onto each other like this for what seemed like an eternity, as though they were unwilling to let go of the other for fear that they would vanish at any given moment.

However, like all moments such as this they must end at some point and the two created notable space between them. They still held onto each other though, their grips only having slightly loosened. Another moment of silence passed before Inconnu broke it.

"Come with me, and let us leave this tomb behind us."

The Witch-King did not protest her summon, but said faintly, "You came, even though this is where I belong, you still came."

Inconnu grip on his dark robes tightened. "No, this is _not_ where you belong. This darkness filled with hate is your past but it should not be your future."

"The light is far though, can you not see that? I buried so deep that even the light would be afraid to look upon my sarcophagus."

Inconnu shook her head, knowing through intuition that The Witch-King was able to see far better than she in this darkness. "I came here to save you, that you have known for some time now. The light is what I am offering you Er-Murazor." She could swear she felt him shudder slightly at the sound of his name, and she waited a few moments before asking, "Is there another way out of this place?"

Another moment of silence.

"...Yes."

_**Later...** _

The two of them exited the mountain just as the sun was setting on the western horizon. Their way out had been a narrow corridor, built by the men who had carved the tomb in the mountain so they could leave that place with ease. It had been sealed off once the work was done, but time had withered it away and so the barrier proved a weak obstacle. The light of the sunset blinded Inconnu slightly and she held her arm up to shield her eyes better. The Witch-King was leaning on her for support, more out of necessity than of want, and he seemed to be indifferent to the sunset.

A whinny filled the air and Sverundr made his appearance, glad to have his rider within his sight once again. The large stallion stopped suddenly in his approach however once his eyes landed on the dark form of the Witch-King. He reared a little and stamped his hooves, clearly displaying his displeasure at being in the presence of the chief Ringwraith. Sverundr still remembered when the Witch-King had tried to kill his rider all those months ago.

Inconnu sighed softly, aware of why Sverundr was so against the Witch-King's presence. The wraith himself was very still, as he too remembered his third encounter with Inconnu. He was knowledgeable of the stallion's deep connection to her, and how protective the horse was of Inconnu. Speaking of her, Inconnu looked up at him and then gestured with her free hand towards the stallion.

"This is Sverundr, my oldest and greatest companion."

He gave a faint nod in response, and Sverundr snorted in turn. Inconnu released another sigh and encouraged the Witch-King to walk with her until they reached the trees where Sverundr's tack was resting on. After letting the Witch-King rest against a tree, Inconnu set about securing the gear on Sverundr and the Witch-King watched as she did so. When she was close to finishing he spoke.

"The cinch is too loose if you plan to ride him."

Inconnu glanced back at him before doing a final check on the gear and Sverundr's tack. "A good thing then that I don't plan to ride him."

"Why do you not?"

"Because I plan to help you. You are still greatly injured and it's not as if Sverundr will let you ride him."

Something moved deep within him, but he quickly ignored it and growled out, "I am not so weak as to need your aid to walk."

Inconnu stiffened momentarily, and when her shoulders relaxed she turned around carefully and fully faced the Witch-King. A small smirk played on her lips as she then folded her arms across her chest and leaned against Sverundr's flank. Her reply held a faintly mocking tone.

"Alright then, prove it. Walk over here without my help."

Inconnu could feel the glare he was giving her, but instead of saying anything he slowly stood straighter. She watched as he push off from the tree and began to take careful steps towards her. He only took three steps before Inconnu saw him seize up with pain and dashed to him before he collapsed to the ground. His cold gauntlets grasped onto her shoulders and they both knew that she didn't need to say anything.

The Witch-King needed her help, and his Numenorean pride be damned.

An hour later they were a few miles from the High Fells, the sun just barely having set, and Inconnu was caring for the fire she lit only a few minutes before. The Witch-King was resting on the ground, propped up against a fallen tree. One think upon observing the way the Ringwraith looked that he was truly asleep, but Inconnu had learned well from a previous encounter that not all was what it seemed to be at times.

Once the fire was of a comfortable size and warmth was easily felt from it, Inconnu made her way over to the Witch-King, kneeling down at his side and inspected him. His robes, though blacked and frayed originally, were more so now and the damage from the fires was plain to any observing eye. She could see parts of his robes were blackened further from the flames of the Fangorn Forest, and soot could still be seen in the joints and crevasses of his armor. Well, in the armor she could see, but when she made to part his robes to better inspect the chestplate she knew was there the gauntlet that was closest to her lashed out and her wrist was trapped in its iron grip.

"Past mistakes should not be repeated." He stated hollowly, and Inconnu simply raised an eyebrow slightly.

"You are still weakened from the fires that had you trapped for hours. I need to check to see what else was damaged."

The Witch-King scoffed faintly. "And just how would you heal a wraith? How would you heal a creature that does not live and yet is not dead?"

Inconnu paused before she replied calmly, "I don't know, but what I do know is that I will figure something out."

 _I will save you_ were the unspoken words between them, but the Witch-King released her wrist and protested no further as she continued her inspection his wounds born of fire. When she was done, she took out two blankets from a saddlebag and tossed one to him as she took her normal sleeping position with Sverundr.

"I do not need such-" He began to reject the blanket, but Inconnu interrupted immediately.

"Just take it and get some rest. Tomorrow we'll think on our current situation with clearer minds."

Her tone said in of itself that no further arguments were to be made for the rest of the night, and the Witch-King could only sigh so very faintly before giving into the blanket and falling asleep himself.


	6. Bridges of Trust

" _The key ingredient to building trust is not time. It's courage." -Patrick Lencioni_

* * *

  _ **10 Miles South of the High Fells of Rhudaur**_

Dawn broke the eastern horizon and the light of a new day spilled onto the land. Inconnu had been awake half and hour beforehand. She wasn't sure if the Witch-King was already awake or was still in a deep sleep, but internally she was glad if he still rested as she wanted some time for herself. Inconnu didn't want to confront him just yet. Right now she was rummaging through her saddlebags, checking the state of her supplies. While doing so, her lips gradually formed a frown.

She was getting low on dried meats and other foods that could last a long journey. A few times she had taken a bite of some Waybread, but there was still plenty. Enough to last another month or two. Inconnu would need to go hunting soon, and her senses told her she would not find suitable prey so close to the Nazgûl Tomb. She needed to get further away from the darkness that place emanated, affecting the surrounding area and making any sort of wildlife unwilling to come near. Inconnu sighed softly and checked her other supplies, of which she was glad to see that none had yet to deteriorate due to time or harsh weather conditions.

She then inspected Sverundr's tack, noticing the wear that was beginning to accumulate. Inconnu was going to have to replace them soon, otherwise one day the rough threading that bound the pieces together would break. Under what circumstances, Inconnu couldn't say for sure, but were it to happen during a hunt... definitely not a good thing. A large head then pushed lightly at her shoulder and Inconnu looked over it to see Sverundr. She smiled, turning a little so she could rub his nose affectionately and he nickered softly in response.

"You're wearing out your tack again." Inconnu mock-scolded him.

Sverundr simply snorted and nudged her hand so she wouldn't stop petting him. She laughed quietly and indulged the large stallion, who looked quite happy and very satisfied with having her attention. After another minute or so of this, Inconnu began to feel faint hunger pains and she easily retrieved a bite of Waybread from the saddlebag. This would keep her satisfied until she was in better hunting grounds. When she swallowed the bite, Inconnu heard shifting of heavy cloth and the Witch-King's familiar hoarse baritone reached her ears.

"You are different in friendly company."

His words were flat, stating plain observation and the what cheery mood there was soon thinned into a faint thread. Inconnu hung onto that lifeline however, refusing to let the atmosphere be taken over by his dourness.

"Everyone acts differently depending on who they surrounded by. Oftentimes dramatically so, and no one is exempt from this." She replied easily to counteract his mood.

"Even one such as I?"

"Even one such as yourself, Er-Murazor."

In the corner of her eye, she saw the Witch-King stiffen at the spoken word that was his name. Briefly, she wondered why he reacted so negatively to his own name. His next words matched that trend however.

"My name falls so easily from your lips." His tone was accusatory though at what specifically it could not be discerned, whether it be at her or himself.

"Its does, as it _is_ your name and I wish to address you by it for a name is far more powerful than any number of titles one might possess. Titles can exchange hands but a name is something else."

"Names too can be passed down, your meaning is lost." The Witch-King retorted, but Inconnu's reply cut deep.

"And yet here you are, your mind your own again not through your titles but through your name. I could have addressed you as either the Witch-King of Angmar or the Forgotten King of Numenor, but the results would have amounted to nothing. Names have power, and so their meaning is not lost."

The Witch-King again visibly stiffened, this time at the mention that he was once a King of Numenor. However, he too gave a reply that cut well and deep.

" _Lamentable Stranger._ "

Inconnu now stiffened as he continued in that same tone, unrelenting.

"Is that not what your name means? A depressing meaning, for why would a child be given a name with such meaning as I am sure that no House of Men or Elves have, or would carry the surname of Naeril."

"How so, and why mention Houses of both races?" She questioned carefully.

"I have noticed the proud Numenorean blood in your veins, but you are only half as I have also seen your elvish features and grace." His tone then turned thoughtful, losing its original bite as he continued with, "Strange though, as you are not referred to as Half-Elven as your surname."

A heavy pause filled the space between them before he slowly asked of Inconnu, "Why do you possess your name?"

Inconnu's reply was barely above a whisper, but the Witch-King's keen hearing caught it nonetheless. "Because my mother lived in fear and in regret of my connection to you, and so my name reflects those emotions."

"She regretted your fate and yet here you stand."

She looked at him and said sharply, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Inconnu could swear that his hidden gaze was cool, and his tone of voice reflected that though it remained unapologetic.

"I mean to say that unwanted children are often left to the elements, the mother believing it to be a kinder fate than the one they were born into." Inconnu made to snap at him but he held a gauntleted hand up to stall her words so he could continue. "But even though you say she regretted your fate and subsequent tie to a creature such as myself, she must have had some hope in the small chance, one that even now you chase after, that you could achieve a brighter future by saving me."

A heavy pause.

"She spared you from the elements Inconnu Naeril."

Another, longer and heavier pause passed between them before Inconnu choked out a barely audible sentence.

"And I'll spare you from the harsh storms to come."

"There will be many storms to come, the consequences of which will change the face of Middle Earth forever. Can you truly spare me from them all?"

"I can try, and if I can't then I'll be with you out there braving the cruel wind and rain."

They stared at each other for long moments, both unsure of what to make of the other in this point of time. This was new territory, both testing the other, seeing how they reacted and then react accordingly or at least try to. Inconnu had gone to great lengths for his sake, and the Witch-King knew not how to react to that than to discover her true intentions, find some sort of ulterior motive. Such was his existence as Chieftain of the Nine, but with Inconnu he could not find other motives other than to bring him into the light.

_You have already seen it Er-Murazor. It is within her outstretched hand, all you need to do is simply grasp it._

The Witch-King indeed knew this, but for now he would wait and see what else occurred the longer he remained in her presence. He then broke the silence between them, no longer so unaffected in word.

"We both speak brave words, do we not?"

"We do."

His dark hood tilted to the left side so very slightly. "Then it seems only time shall tell of our actions, for words can only go so far in the coming days."

Inconnu simply nodded, and decided to move the conversation onto a more immediate topic by asking of him, "How are your wounds?"

The Witch-King shifted slightly before replying, "Little different than when you checked last."

She walked over to his side after giving Sverundr one more affectionate rub. The large stallion snorted at the loss and moved to graze a patch of rough mountain grass, all the while keeping a close eye on his rider and the Ringwraith. There were to be no surprises however, as the Witch-King learned his lesson well and made no hint of protest when Inconnu checked the same places she had the evening before. His words came back to Inconnu swiftly.

_"And just how would you heal a wraith? How would you heal a creature that does not live and yet is not dead?"_

How indeed, and Inconnu didn't have the slightest idea of where she could possibly begin. For now she could hope that being away from the foul darkness of the Nazgûl Tomb would prevent any more damage upon his being.

She ran a burnt edge of the dark and rough cloth between her fingers before inspecting his chest plate again. Inconnu knew that this was where he took the most damage from the fires, where the flame burned most fiercely in its attempt to consume the Lord of Carrion. Again, there were no surprises and the Witch-King did not react in any way, much less violently. The plate was normally hidden the the dark cloak he wore, but bared to the light of the sun Inconnu could better tell that the fires had blackened it to the point that she could almost swear that it was a different metal altogether. Her fingertips gently touched its surface, barely resting on top of it. Now he reacted, but with quiet words instead of physical harm. The Witch-King spoke as though he was genuinely surprised.

"It no longer hurts..."

Inconnu looked up into the depths of his hood and asked just as quietly, "What no longer hurts?"

"Your touch."

Inconnu raised an eyebrow faintly. "We've made physical contact before."

She could've sworn that he sighed in exasperation.

"Look again Inconnu Naeril. Just where do your fingers rest?"

Inconnu looked down at her hand again, and her grey eyes widened noticeably. Her fingers rested against his chest right above where a man's heart would beat. She looked up into the shadows of his hood and Inconnu knew that he was staring back just as intently.

"It no longer hurts..." Inconnu repeated back to him, and the Witch-King responded with a single and solemn nod "Why did it hurt before, and why doesn't it hurt anymore?"

There was a thick and unsure pause of silence between them until the Witch-King spoke, saying only four words.

"I do not know."

"To which?"

He did not clarify, but even so it was made clearer to Inconnu what he meant by the singular answer. She replaced the dark cloth over the chestplate and stood carefully before walking over to Sverundr's tack. The Witch-King looked on in curiosity as she looked through the stuff briefly until she turned around with something long and black on her hands. There were few ways he could convey shock in his current state of existence, but he was sure that Inconnu could discern that he was with some ease. Propping himself up a little more so he could possess more of a bearing, the Witch-King watched Inconnu as she knelt by his side again and presented him what was in her hands.

It was his longsword, a weapon he thought lost to the Fangorn Forest after he had fled from the fires, leaving ashes in his wake.

With care he took the sheathed blade from her hands, his hidden gaze running over it to make sure everything was as it was the last he saw of it. The Witch-King unsheathed it slightly, watching as the sun reflected off of the silver gleam of the metalwork.

"You cared for it."

He then stated, a small sense of awe in the tone of his words. Inconnu nodded before replying, "I found it not long after the fires had died, buried in the ashes of once great trees and I could not leave it there. No, I knew you would need it again."

They both also knew that she meant to say that she knew that he was more or less defenseless without his blade, but silently the Witch-King thanked her for sparing him of that humility and blow to his pride. However, he also had to ask, "Why trust me with a weapon I know well?"

What surprised him then was Inconnu's quick and sure answer.

"I trust the man you once were, and are becoming again. After all, words can only go so far."


	7. How A Friendship Began

" _Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend." -Albert Camus_

* * *

  _ **Two Days Later...**_

Finally Inconnu had discovered better hunting grounds.

She had thought that they would come upon something like this much sooner, but the Huntress of the North had underestimated the power and reach of the darkness that the High Fells of Rhudaur possessed. Inconnu was currently crouched, hidden by the dead foliage and concealed by her grey Elven cloak. She smiled as she remembered the gifts of Galadriel and Haldir before she left their forests, but as Inconnu remembered Oromë's gift of _Ghost's Song_ her smile faded slightly.

Still she remembered the vision it gave her, obviously of a time long past and, as her intuition told her, from the last days of Arnor. Inconnu also still had the feeling, which her Patron confirmed, that there was no happy history to the blade. A past that the Great Hunter would not tell her, leaving it to Er-Murazor and she understood as well as accepted it. Inconnu's smile widened again at thinking of the Ringwraith by his name rather than the title he was most commonly known as.

Thinking of him still, Er-Murazor had calmed considerably in demeanor ever since she had returned his blade to him. It seemed like he took her gesture of trust to heart, at least what revealing to be one, and in his own way he was extending his own trust to her. Er-Murazor had not made any explicit show of it, but Inconnu understood the reasoning behind his most recent interactions with her. He seemed more kind in word, no longer biting at them though was brief with them.

 _Well,_ Inconnu then smirked to herself, _as long as one does not strike at his pride too hard._

Inconnu was certain that even though he was returning to his old self little by little, day by day, his pride has always been a part of who he was. She accepted it though, knowing that she too had her own flaws in character, there was no reason to be ashamed of the fact. The best thing one could do was acknowledge their flaws and work to be better than that, lest they be consumed by the definition of those traits. Inconnu's attention strayed when she heard the snap of a nearby twig and notched an arrow in her bowstring.

It was a trap she had set up, spreading thin and weak twigs around her, providing an early warning system for anything that would enter the range of her longbow. With keen eyes that could only belong to a hunter, Inconnu scanned the area and in the distance saw a fat rabbit. It was standing at attention, long ears standing just as straight as its body as it too looked around the area for the threat it sensed. Inconnu softly sighed in relief, glad that her future meal didn't immediately run off when it snapped the twig under its large hind feet.

She drew back the string and raised the bow up just enough for a clear shot at her prey, all the while completely silent. One of the first lessons Inconnu had ever learned in her first years as the Huntress of the North was to respect the Hunt, no matter how big or small. It was a game perfected as an art by only very few, and Inconnu was proud to name herself as one of those individuals. This was displayed as she waited patiently for that singular moment in which the timing was right, for when she would release her readied arrow and claim another successful hunt.

That very moment arrived quickly.

Inconnu released her arrow.

She listened to the shaft's faint whistling as it soared through the air and the dull thump of the rabbit's body falling to the forest floor. Inconnu carefully stood from her hiding spot and looked around again for any potential thieves of her meal before walking from where she stood to claim her prize. She inspected her fallen prey, crouching down once again to better see her shot. The arrow had gone straight through the heart. A perfect shot and the quality Inconnu had come to expect from her Hunts. Inconnu gave a short whisper of thanks for her success in the Hunt before carefully removing the arrow from the rabbit's chest.

She tied its hind feet together and slung it over her shoulder for an easier carry, but not before her bow was secured across her back. Once ready, Inconnu headed southwest to where she had left the Witch-King and Sverundr in a suitable clearing to rest and recover where Inconnu knew that their small company could rest away from the foul influence of the Nazgûl Tomb. Not too many minutes passed before Inconnu came across an odd and worrying sight.

Several trees in front of her bore terrible lacerations, cutting deep into their bark. One looked so deep that the young tree was held up by its upper branches by the ones of the older trees, like a wounded comrade and his fellows weren't going to give up on him yet. Immediately Inconnu though this to be the work of more than one Dire Wolf, perhaps two or three judging by the damage, but she could not confirm this because of one crucial detail.

There were no tracks, none for as far as Inconnu could see.

Inconnu knew that no creature she could think of could create such damage yet leave no other evidence of its presence. It simply couldn't be done, and she ruled out natural phenomenon because no snow storms had come through recently and the winds hadn't been as harsh lately. And besides, Inconnu could easily tell that these long claw marks were done more or less an hour ago. Very fresh indeed.

Inconnu shivered, once again feeling like she was being hunted. As the Huntress of the North, she certainly did not like this particular feeling. Another slight shudder down her spine before Inconnu noted the slashes securely in her mind before again making her way to where Er-Murazor and Sverundr were. It didn't take her too long, about half an hour passing before she heard Sverundr's usual snorts. However, what was different was that she also heard faint cursing that was barely audible. Inconnu smiled softly to herself, having a _very_ good idea as to what was happening just beyond her vision.

She stuck to the shadows a little when she entered the clearing, staying just out of sight and observing the Witch-King trying to approach Sverundr. His demeanor made it obvious that he was very frustrated by Sverundr's antics, but Inconnu could tell that Er-Murazor meant well towards the large stallion. Mostly, for that was being countered by his growing frustrations. Sverundr, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying thwarting the Ringwraith's attempts to touch him. The grey stallion kept dodging Er-Murazor's cold gauntlet at the last moment, dancing out of the way and followed by more cursing from the Witch-King.

Inconnu chuckled, alerting both males to her presence. Sverundr whinnied and was quickly at her side, urging her to pet him. She complied and rubbed his nose while looking at the Witch-King, who was standing with the demeanor of someone who's rather indignant at the moment. His tone when he spoke to her was utterly flat and his words plainly stated.

"He does not favor my presence."

Inconnu gave a single nod and said, "That's because he doesn't trust you like he does me. He has few reasons to do so as well."

"That makes him out to be intelligent then?"

"It does," Inconnu confirmed. "As well as his reasoning. Sverundr is not easily fooled by façades and can see the truth of those around him. Concerning you he sees only a Nazgûl, a rather powerful one and with me, a powerful friend he wants to protect."

Er-Murazor cocked his head slightly to the left before asking, "That stallion wants to protect a powerful friend? Is that not backwards logic?"

"Not really, as Sverundr wasn't always the one doing the protecting. It's different now, but back then I protected him quite a bit and these days him protecting me is his way of repaying me and proving that he still wishes to be my friend."

There was a moment of silence between them, nothing of any particular feeling and Inconnu could sense that the Witch-King was thinking something over in his mind. Inconnu continued to indulge Sverundr with his need for her affectionate petting until the Witch-King finally spoke his conclusion aloud.

"Sverundr is no normal stallion."

"He is one of the Mearas," Inconnu confirmed. "Sverundr isn't too unlike Shadowfax, almost like his northern counterpart, and also unlike Shadowfax..." Inconnu paused to then comb her fingers through Sverundr's thick mane, and the stallion didn't seem to mind about the two of them talking about him. "Sverundr is much more clingy when it comes to myself."

Er-Murazor took this information in, having known ever since their first meeting in the besieged city of Osgiliath that Sverundr was something else, possessing a power and intelligence not fully shared by other horses. The only thing that had been remarkable about his own black steed was its patience and ability to remain calm even in the presence of the Nine. Remembering his mount, particularly its fate, the Witch-King cringed internally. Without his horse he would not be able to travel anywhere quickly, and the easiest solution to this was if he and Inconnu were to both ride Sverundr. The stallion was certainly large enough due to his Draft heritage.

That was what he had been attempting to do before Inconnu had returned from her hunt, to see if he could indeed ride Sverundr. The results of those tries spoke for themselves.

"How did Sverundr become your companion Inconnu?" He suddenly asked her, and its suddenness took her aback slightly but she replied just the same.

"I have had a few horses before I stopped riding altogether, as I quickly learned that normal horses don't live long due to what I typically hunt in the far northern reaches. It had only been a few months after the death of my last horse and I was hiking it on foot through some rather difficult terrain..."

_Inconnu pulled her scarf over her nose again, the winds not as cold due to current summertime season, but some days the winds seemed to forget that and retained a harsh sting still. Her grey eyes widened as she again began to slip down the mountainside. Inconnu's hands instantly grabbed for any nearby hand holds and eventually she stopped slipping. Breathing rugged and trying to calm her racing heart, Inconnu managed to sigh faintly. Progress was difficult, gaining ground before being forced back for most of that very ground._

_She looked up at her destination, only a couple of yards away, so tantalizingly close and to Inconnu it almost seemed to mock her with its proximity. Inconnu looked down at her hands and feet, then back at top of where she knew more level ground awaited her. Waiting seemed to be the best option, and she decided to see if she could time to bursts of wind that kept pushing her down and keeping her from fully conquering the harsh terrain. A burst hit her and Inconnu held on to the grips she had until it passed._

_She waited again until another hit her, then a third, and when the third one did she leaped for the top and grabbed on with all her strength._

_However no one Man, Elf, or Dwarf could truly predict the whims of nature, and so Inconnu was hit by another burst of the cruel winds. She had no time to get a true grip on the ledge and thus no real defense against those very winds. What she did not expect was to suddenly feel something latch onto her left sleeve of her coat and tug her back towards the ledge. Taking advantage of the situation, Inconnu swung her other hand to the ledge and gripped onto it along with her left one. She didn't look up until the burst had passed, and when she did Inconnu was in for quite the surprise._

_What was grabbing onto her coat sleeve, or rather biting it, was a young colt._

_Inconnu lifted herself into the flat terrain, releasing a relieved sigh before being almost tackled to the ground by the colt. She managed to remain sitting upright and automatically responded to the colt's nudges for affection. Inconnu's grey gaze looked him over as she petted him, noting his large size and Draft breed, grey coloring with a few white markings and short mane and tail that surely would become longer and thicker as he got older._

_Looking around briefly with keen eyes, Inconnu could not discern where the colt could possibly have come from. It was obvious that the grey colt recognized her, but Inconnu had never seen this colt before in her life. Speaking of whom, the colt looked up at her and Inconnu stared into his deep brown eyes. There was so much heart in them, completely honest and also filled with adoration for her. Inconnu sighed internally and rubbed the colt's nose affectionately, to which the colt snorted lightly before nudging her hand for more._

_She seemed to have a new horse now, or at least in a year or two she would._

"It took me a week to decide on what name to give him, but once I was familiar with his personality I named him ' _Sverundr'_ , meaning ' _Wild Hearted'_ in a somewhat lost dialect of Dwarvish."

"' _Somewhat lost dialect_ '?" Er-Murazor questioned with a slight tone of doubt. Inconnu simply smiled a little.

"I knew enough to name him didn't I?"

The Witch-King conceded to her words with a faint nod of his dark hood, then it seemed he then looked at something else and said, "Your dinner I assume?"

Inconnu remembered the rabbit slung over her shoulder and she nodded. Pushing Sverundr away slightly, much to the large stallion's dismay but Sverundr then moved on to graze the wild grasses in the clearing, and Inconnu walked over to the center of the clearing to breathe life back into the campfire she had made the night before. Food was very much on her mind now as the afternoon drew later and later. The Witch-King silently sat himself on the ground again to lean against a convenient log, wanting to rest his what was considered to be his physical form. Though he certainly felt better and the pain having apparently vanished from his form, he still felt a deep exhaustion sometimes.

The clearing soon fell into a comfortable silence, each companion doing their own thing and that suited them just fine.


	8. Ghost's Song

" _Don't forget-no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell." -Charles de Lint_

* * *

 **_15_** _**Miles North of the High Pass** _

The evening found Inconnu and her companions trapped in a cave with just enough room for all three of them. It was past midwinter now, a majority of the snowstorms for this section of the Misty Mountains having passed already, but it seems this one wished to linger. Howling winds raced past the smaller entrance into the cave but very little could enter. Inconnu huddled closer to Sverundr, who had fallen asleep an hour or so ago. It was hard to tell the passage of time in the cave. Inconnu stared into the lively embers of the small fire she started some while ago. She didn't add more in order to keep it aflame, as she knew to be sparing in feeding the greedy embers.

They were warm enough, and between the body heat of all in the cave and the embers their shelter from the snowstorm was cozy. Well, with the exception of the Witch-King, Inconnu thought to herself. She wasn't quite sure if he had any warmth to his form, as last she knew Er-Murazor was still cold to the touch. Looking at him now, he seemed to be in a state of deep rest now. This was good, as he needed all the rest he could get, but especially when Inconnu glanced over at where _Ghost's Song_ was with Sverundr's tack and her normal sword.

The blade was easily within arms reach, and the longer Inconnu stared at it, the more she wanted to reach out and grasp it. An itch began to grow in the back of her mind, practically begging her to withdraw the blade from its sheath and look into its reflective surface. She had felt the itch before a few times, particularly when she would start noticing more signs of at least two large predators. Her instincts as the Huntress of the North told her that she was being hunted, a feeling she did not like to admit but knew it was true nonetheless.

Inconnu still had no clue as to what could've made those claw marks, and with no tracks to make some sort of comparison to she was left further in the dark. She hadn't been the only one to notice the slashes too on the trees as they traveled, as the Witch-King pointed them out a day ago and had hased her about them. Inconnu couldn't provide an answer, only some sort of uneasy reassurance. She knew that he knew she was concerned about this, which Sverundr picked up and his behavior became just a little more anxious whenever the large stallion caught sight of any marred trees.

Inconnu took a deep breath before releasing it with a quiet sigh, grey eyes still on _Ghost's Song_.

Another moment passed before she gave in and reached over for the longsword.

 _'It just needs a little maintenance,'_ Inconnu thought as she tried to give reason for the nagging sensation in the back of her mind _'it's been awhile since the last time I cared for it and even an unused blade still needs care.'_

A good reason to look at the sword again, a very logical one indeed though it was shame she didn't truly believe in it. The sword rested in her hands now, Inconnu unconsciously softening her breathing pattern and so very slowly she unsheathed the blade, baring it to the soft glow of the embers. She didn't look at the metalwork of _Ghost's Song_ just yet, as Inconnu then stole a look at Er-Murazor. There was no indication that he was aware of the sword's presence and she relaxed, though only slightly. Inconnu now dared to the look at the blade and as she stared into her reflection, staring into matching grey eyes.

Her awareness of her surroundings grew less and less...

* * *

_Sensation came to her. It was hot where she was, a sweltering heat in an area that she did not recognize. She couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything. Inconnu could very well feel the warm heat that threatened to engulf her._

_Sound came to her. Crashing metal reached her ears. It was not the sound of battle however, there were no cries of battle and glory. In conjunction with the heat that was so humid, Inconnu was getting a better idea of where she was. She still could not see, but could feel the heat and hear the metals colliding._

_Sight came to her. At last she could she the darkness around her and the orange and red hot glow of fire. Inconnu knew where she was now, in a forge where blacksmiths fought with metals to form the mightiest of weapons to the most delicate jewelry. Another look around herself, and Inconnu was able to tell that this was forge located somewhere in the north, at least west of the Misty Mountains._

_What threw her slightly off were the elvish blades also scattered about, and even more were the obvious Westernesse blades among them. No Westernesse blades had been forged since the Fall of Arnor... The realization hit Inconnu hard. She was again in the past during the darkest years of the north, during the Witch-King's conquest to break the kingdom of Arnor, and Inconnu knew that this was the doing of_ Ghost's Song.

 _Through the devising of the sword no doubt, Inconnu was encouraged by a stronger force towards the forge, where she could see a broad man working on the finishing touches of his newest blade._ _When she was closer she saw an Elven man with the blacksmith, tall in stature and to her complete shock possessing stark white hair, and he had just recently reached into a pouch and dusted the fresh blade with a sparkling dust._

 _The material was then hammered in by the blacksmith, and after another round of the shiny material the broad man lifted the glowing red blade before plunging it into a nearby barrel of cool water._ _Steam rose in a great mass, which soon encompassed her sight but she could still hear the words of Elvish that reached her her ears and the sight of a shining blue-black script she had seen before._

_"Gorga sina hyanda, Witch-Kein en' Angmar!"_

Fear this blade, Witch-King of Angmar!

_"Sinta true gorga iire le naa confronted ed' i' sonf en' nir' ungwale souls!"_

Know true fear when you are confronted by the song of many tortured souls!

_"Y' requiem ten' yuuyo lle ar' i' umbar en' Arnor!"_

A requiem for both you and the fate of Arnor!

* * *

Inconnu was awoken from her trance when _Ghost's Song_ was ripped from her stiff grasp. She barely felt it leave her hands, and could barely hear it land some feet away in the thin layer of snow inside the cave.

"Inconnu!" A harsh tone from a hoarse baritone nearly shouted in her ear "Inconnu look at me!"

Her grey gaze slowly met ones hidden the deep darkness of the hood in front of her. Inconnu knew Er-Murazor was staring intently at her, and faintly Inconnu felt cold metal fingers touch her own, her hands still in the position when she was holding _Ghost's Song_. The Witch-King's voice was quieter, yet still harsh when he asked, "What did you see? What did that cursed blade show you?!"

It took a moment for Inconnu to gain a clearer sense of her thoughts before she answered him. She sounded as if she were still far away, far back in that time.

"I saw a forge, a blacksmith of Men and an Elven Man with pure white hair working on a new sword. They were intent on its creation, no faltering from either of them. When they were finished and the blade was cooled in water I heard the Elven Man speak, almost like a spell-,"

 _"Gorga sina hyanda, Witch-Kein en' Angmar!"_ The Witch-King muttered, and Inconnu began to focus more as he spoke " _Sinta true gorga iire le naa confronted ed' i' sonf en' nir' ungwale souls! Y' requiem ten' yuuyo lle ar' i' umbar en' Arnor!"_

"How do you know what he said?" Inconnu asked him, her shock easily discernable.

He sighed. "I have heard them twice. Once a very long time ago..." His tone became more harsh and angry as he finished with, "And now from you."

Now his cold, metal gauntlets gripped her shoulders and none too kindly. The Witch-King was angry-that might have been an understatement but nonetheless very displeased with Inconnu, and she knew it had to do with _Ghost's Song_. If anything, that sword had to do with everything about Er-Murazor's behavior right now. Inconnu didn't flinch when his grip tightened, but continued to stare into the shadows within his black hood. She still did not yield when he spoke again, the anger still there in his words.

"Why do you possess that foul Westernesse blade?"

"It was a gift," Inconnu spoke truthfully "I received it from my Patron, who believed-better yet, _knew_ it would serve me well in the dark days to come."

A tense silence passed for a few moments before he then asked, " _Who_ would give you such a weapon?"

"The Great Hunter of the Valar."

Inconnu could not have predicted what reaction was to come from him due to her answer. The Witch-King immediately threw himself away her, pressing himself against the opposite wall. Inconnu was sure he was glancing between her and _Ghost's Song_ , unsure of what to do now. Gone was the fuel of the majority of his ire, left with a sense that was more akin to confusion and distrust.

 _"'Soon will come a stranger, her fate intertwined with his,'"_ He then began to quote in a hushed tone "' _And by her hand either to redeem or destroy...'"_ Er-Murazor now focused on Inconnu. His next words sounded of betrayal and hurt, and it nearly broke Inconnu's heart to hear them. "That is why you have _Ghost's Song_. You carry that blade in case the wrong situation arises... In case you need to kill me once and forever."

Inconnu couldn't help her next actions. She didn't think, she just acted and what she did was to move forward just few feet until she fell onto her knees before him. There was dead silence as she then raised and overturned her wrists so they were bare to him. Inconnu looked down, unwilling to look at him but knew all the same that he was shocked at her actions. On your knees and giving someone your bared wrists was pretty much the ultimate way of saying you mean no harm, or your offer of an ultimate surrender to an opponent. Inconnu felt naked before him, no weapons on her and very vulnerable. More vulnerable than she had ever felt before in her life. She didn't know how he would respond to what she just did. Inconnu was afraid, very much afraid.

The silence in the air was killing them, and it seemed like an eternity had passed before Inconnu then heard the Witch-King lower himself into his knees as well. The metal of his armor creaked a little as he did so, and his gauntlets gently held her wrists. He recognized her gesture and fulfilled it by accepting. Next thing Inconnu knew she had her arms around his neck, or rather around his hood, and his arms around her back. They held each other close, needing each other's comfort.

"Initially I believed that _Ghost's Song_ was like any other Westernesse blade brought against me."

Er-Murazor's voice a utterly calm, very composed and as he continued Inconnu sunk further into his embrace, holding him closer.

"When I first crossed blades with its first wielder however, I knew without a doubt that there a power to it. Infantile, but the sheer rawness it possessed was something to be wary of. After that first meeting I knew also that I would continue to meet _Ghost's Song_ on the battlefield."

The Witch-King shifted, moving into a more comfortable position for both himself and Inconnu.

"And indeed I did, dozens of times across many battles during my breaking of Arnor. I never came across the same wielder more than twice, as often they did not live past the first and certainly not after the second time. Nor did I care for them, not enough to remember how they looked or their names, but that sword would always remain ingrained into my very mind. One day it managed to pierce through my armor."

Inconnu knew what he spoke of, and the faint tone of pain in his baritone made it clear.

"It had has been the last move of its most recent bearer, who was dead shortly after, but I was not focused on that. No, what I felt was my very soul burning with a pain I had never felt before, and what I heard were the cries of a thousand other souls. Cries of hatred at what I had done. This consumed all other thoughts I might have had and it also weakened me like never before." His voice became incredibly hoarse suddenly.

"It did not stop until I pulled it from myself and tossed it aside."

Inconnu gripped his dark robes with a hand, one that was on top of his chest. The Witch-King lifted a gauntlet up and clasped her hand in it.

"Please understand Inconnu, your sword and I do not have a pleasant history. I..."

She looked up at him, intuitively knowing what he wanted say and silently Inconnu encouraged him to say it.

"... I apologize that I reacted the way I did to you. Seeing _Ghost's Song_ I saw red and with you holding it I thought the worst of you. I should not have, not after all you have done for me."

Inconnu smiled. "You're forgiven Er-Murazor. I will always forgive you."

Sleep soon made itself apparent as Inconnu fell into it, and as she did she could've sworn the Witch-King said something in reply but was too distracted by the realization that Er-Murazor was now warm to the touch.

_"Thank you."_


	9. An Attack of Shadows

" _You can only come to the morning through the shadows." -_ _J. R. R._ _Tolkien_

* * *

 For the first time in a very long time, Inconnu woke up in a state of absolute calm.

She was utterly content and considering what she had gone through as so far in her journey to redeem the Witch-King of Angmar this was very much needed. The Huntress of the North stretched slightly, aiming to loosen the muscles from their sleep, when she realized that something was preventing her from doing so fully. Slowly Inconnu opened her eyes and to her surprise worn black robes met her gaze, and looking further around she then fully noticed that she was in the arms of Er-Murazor.

Inconnu didn't know how to quite take this situation, having never been in this kind of situation before. Being honest with herself though, she found that she didn't mind being in his grasp. He was warm, something that she barely noted before she fell asleep after the tense and dangerous situation they both found themselves in the night before. Inconnu sighed, though quietly as not to disturb the still resting Nazgûl.

' _At least he's resting,'_ She thought to herself. _'We all need some after the past few days, especially after last night.'_

Inconnu, now properly thinking back on her action that night, surprised herself at what she had done. Never would she have believed before that she would, and _did_ , surrender in such a complete way to a Ringwraith, one of the darkest servants of Sauron. But here now, in said Ringwraith's arms, Inconnu held no regrets in doing so. It may have started out as an instinct, a near desperation to keep his trust, was now a conscious decision to keep him close.

To keep him safe.

Inconnu was now better understanding just what Oromë wished her to do, how to help the Witch-King break free from Sauron's wicked grasp. She also knew now that she too would be changed by this, for better or worse. Sacrifices would have to go both ways for the most lasting of changes to hold steadfast, and Inconnu was willing to make those sacrifices for the better of two fates. As for right now, Inconnu was reluctant to leave Er-Murazor's embrace but knew that they would have to leave the cave. Her ears and hunter's senses told her that the lightning blizzard had long since passed, having faded away sometime in the long night.

Carefully, Inconnu pulled herself from the Witch-King and stood up. After properly stretching the muscles of her back, she then eyed the entrance to the cave. Due to the blizzard it had snowed in, blocking the entrance but Inconnu could see the light of the sun shining through the layers of snow. It would not be too much of a hardship to break a new entrance to the outside. The Wanderer then moved over to her pile of gear, which was next to Sverundr's tack, and prepared to leave.

During her preparations Sverundr also woke with a great snort, lifting his head soon after and he too eyed the snow-blocked entrance of the cave. When the large stallion looked to Inconnu, she smiled and shrugged faintly.

"We've been in worse places Sverundr, no need to be mildly dramatic about it."

Sverundr simply snorted again, as though to deny her words, but simply went about his own preparations to leave. Inconnu maintained her smile as she finished up and took her normal longsword in both her hands, still in its scabbard, and made her way to the blocked entrance. She then started digging into the wall of snow with her sheathed sword, easily making progress as soon the wall began to crumble away on its own as she dug and scraped at it. Late morning light shot its way into the cave as more of the wall of snow was taken down, and Inconnu shivered a little as its warmth reached her.

Once there was enough room to comfortably leave the cave, Sverundr took the opportunity immediately and whinnied happily once he was outside. Inconnu shook her head and smiled wryly, her thoughts then interrupted when she heard a familiar hoarse baritone close behind her.

"I take it that the stallion does not like enclosed spaces?"

Inconnu looked up over the right shoulder to see Er-Murazor standing there, at a slight and respectable distance, but close nonetheless. In response, she nodded. "Yes, Sverundr prefers to run free." Inconnu paused momentarily to turn and better face the Witch-King, and to now lean against the revealed rock wall of the cave. "And I see that you've recovered enough to stand with your own strength."

"I have," Er-Murazor agreed. "Not fully healed, but enough to stand beside you."

Inconnu gave him a genuine smile, and through her other and stranger sense, she knew that Er-Murazor was returning one as well. This sent a strong feeling of elation through her, and Inconnu's smiled widened because of it. She held her hand out to him then and asked, "Shall we?"

The Witch-King only hesitated a moment before grasping onto her leather-gloved hand with his gauntleted one. He needn't say anything, for Inconnu already knew what he wanted to say. Together the exited the cave, the Witch-king not too far behind her as he willingly followed her to leave the cave.

Inconnu was too late to react when Sverundr suddenly reared and neighed in alarm, and then was tackled to the ground harshly, her hand wrenched away from Er-Murazor's. Her hunter's instincts fully controlled her actions once she felt the heavy weight leave her back, pushing her further into the ground when it leaped. Once crouching and steady on her feet, Inconnu looked up and saw a nightmarish creature before her.

It was like a dire wolf, but much larger than a dire wolf and at least twice the size of the largest one Inconnu had ever seen. Black tar dripped from an even blacker skeletal frame, patches of matted black and grey fur making it seem it had once been a living thing. However, there was no illusion great enough to hide what it was now: some foul and undead creature that snarled viciously at her. What unnerved Inconnu the most though was what her hunters' senses were screaming at her.

This was what had been hunting her since the Nazgûl Tomb, what made her feel like she was being hunted in turn.

Other than a creature of something dark and evil in nature, Inconnu had no clue as to what it really was though in the current moment that did not matter so much. It snarled again at Inconnu, who then managed to grab her sword and unsheathe it. She felt calmer with her blade in hand and matched gazes with the disgusting creature. Sterling grey conflicted with blazing white as the practitioners of two very different Hunts stared the other down. The foul creature growled darkly, shifting in place a little and Inconnu whipped out her dagger as well before it charged at her.

Inconnu was surprised at the beast's sheer speed, almost unable to dodge it but managing all the same though certainly unable to take a swipe at it with either weapon in hand. The skeletal beast slid to a stop and ran at her again, ignoring the Witch-King but Inconnu barely managed to shout, "Sverundr! Guard him!" before having to dodge again. Sverundr pranced in place, indecisive on whether to aid his rider and a little more than unwilling to protect the Nazgûl that traveled with them. The Ringwraith smelled of death and curses, but the creature that fought with his rider was worse. There was more death, more curses, and something else that was not of this world.

However, when Inconnu shouted at him again to protect the Witch-King he complied and placed himself between the two creatures of Shadow.

Inconnu was having trouble with this new beast, determining that it was hunter as well but far more savage in tactic. This was something that hunted for sport rather than out of need for itself or others. Pulling up from another dodging roll, she came up and with her sword made a deep slashing motion against the beast. It made a sound between a yelp and a screech, a sound that hurt her ears, but looking at it again Inconnu could see no notable damage. In her shock the creature took the advantage to repay the favor, and it succeeded when Inconnu was just late enough her dodge.

Incredibly sharp claws raked across her left shoulder and Inconnu bit her lip in order not to cry out her own pain. This action drew blood from her lip and she barely noticed it trailing down to then drip off her chin. The fresh wound burned like fire but Inconnu had to keep moving, for the creature that preyed on her was not going to relent anytime soon. Another dodge, another, and when the beast changed tactics by pouncing on her it nearly got what it wanted but Inconnu was not to be so easily trapped.

However, Inconnu lost her sword in the scuffle when she was standing again. The dark, skeletal creature had also now stopped their game of charging and dodging and Inconnu raised her hunting knife up into a defensive stance when it snarled. It did not run for her though, and to Inconnu it seemed to be savoring all this in a sadistic way. It's black and oozing tongue slipped out as though to taste the air, like it could taste the blood seeping from the wounds it gave Inconnu.

Without her sword, they both knew that Inconnu would be having a much harder time fending off the foul beast, and if her sword could not do much damage to it there was little hope for her hunting knife.

It crept towards her now, behaving like any wild predator would, but Inconnu did not falter as it approached. Her sight and hearing narrowed onto the skeletal creature, remaining very focused as it came closer and closer. Soon it was only a few yards away and everything seemed dead silent and that the world was only focused on the two of them.

"Inconnu!"

Her head whipped to where she heard the call, the silence so brazenly broken. It had been Er-Murazor who had broken it, and in his hand for a moment was _Ghost's Song_ , sheathed, before he threw it to her. The corrupted beast too was distracted by the Witch-King's shout, and it too snarled at the Nazgûl who dared to interrupt its Hunt. Before it could do anything more though, which Inconnu suspected was to then attack the Ringwraith, _Ghost's Song_ was in Inconnu's hands, unsheathed and swinging for the dark creature.

Inconnu's slash was true, the beast unable to avoid the strike as it struck the bones of its neck. Effectively decapitated, and very much defeated, the black and tar-covered skeletal creature dropped to the ground. Those present watched as the tar dripped to the ground and vanished as it touched the earth. Any life, which was mostly grass, died all around it and the tar continued to fall until the only thing left of the beast was a pile of gleaming white bones, though extremely pitted.

The Huntress of the North took several deep breaths, fighting to now calm her racing heart as she lowered _Ghost's Song_ until its tip dug into the dirt beneath her feet. Inconnu looked to where Er-Murazor was, giving him a weary smile. Er-Murazor found himself to be extremely _happy_ at her survival, surprising himself quite a bit. However, he also suddenly found himself confused when Inconnu's smile dropped and her features turned into one of utter shock.

The next thing anyone knew, Inconnu was on top of Er-Murazor with deep lacerations across her back and the Witch-King on the ground somewhat holding her. He quickly looked up and saw Sverundr holding at bay yet another creature like the first. His attention was instantly on Inconnu's condition and saw that she was barely conscious, fighting to stay awake and her grip on _Ghost's Song_ had her knuckles deathly pale. Inconnu wasn't going to be able to fight off another one of those things, that was for certain.

Er-Murazor knew that he would have to do something and act fast. Sverundr was an excellent protector and fighter himself, but the stallion could only hold off the foul beast for so long. His gaze fell upon _Ghost's Song_ , a blade he had hated for thousands of years, and it was then that he knew exactly what to do. Knowing the pain it caused him and its sheer effectiveness against the first creature, he concluded that it must be a bane to all manner of 'undead' things before easing the sword from her grasp and taking it into his own.

Surprisingly, it did not burn him as he expected though an uneasiness swept through him. It felt a little light in his hands but that did not matter when he charged at the skeletal creature with the blade raised. Sverundr, with some unknown sense, moved aside just as the Witch-King made his first strike against the beast. Shocked by the sudden change in the battle, the second corrupted creature was forced back each time the Witch-King struck at it. It made horrible sounds of pain, but due to the Er-Murazor's own ambush, his relentless attacks, and power that _Ghost's Song_ possessed there was nothing it could really do.

Eventually the creature reared up to try and land a blow of its own, but it was not to be when Er-Murazor stabbed the powerful blade up from its jaw and all the way through the top of its skull. Exactly like the first skeletal beast, all that was left was a pile of pitted white bones that gleamed in the sunlight. No so weary, the Witch-King turned back and nearly ran to where Inconnu lay prone and he could not tell if she was still breathing. He was stopped though by Sverundr, the large stallion suddenly blocking his way and rearing which forced Er-Murazor back a few steps.

Eyes hidden by shadow and deep brown ones met, and the Witch-King knew then that Sverundr considered him as much a threat to Inconnu as those dark creatures of some necromancy were. He knew very well that Sverundr was not going to let him get close to Inconnu Naeril.

Not without a fight at least.


	10. Pleading for Peace and Light

_"Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding." -Albert Einstein_

* * *

 The Witch-King stared at Sverundr as they continued their standoff, occasionally glancing to Inconnu's unnervingly still form. He easily estimated that Inconnu had lost quite a lot of blood from protecting him fron the second creature's ambush and the longer she went without attention, the less her chances of survival were. Surely the large stallion knew this? No matter Er-Murazor's thoughts though, as Sverundr was keen on and very much keeping his rider and the Ringwraith apart.

Still maintaning eye-contact, Er-Murazor carefully took a step toward Sverundr and stopped when the stallion snorted. The large stallion stamped his front hooves in the fresh layer of snow, but did nothing else as the Witch-King took another step forward.

Then he took another and another and when he took a fourth step, Sverundr reared slightly and neighed loudly. This forced the Witch-King back several steps back again and they were right back to where they started.

Er-Murazor sighed, easily remembering when he tried to approach Sverundr when Inconnu had left to hunt the first chance she got once they were far enough from the Nazgûl Tomb.

They weren't going to get anywhere like this, especially not soon enough for Inconnu.

Glancing at her again, he then remembered what she had told him of Sverundr and her strong bond with the large stallion that same day in the past.

_'Sverundr is not easily fooled by façades and can see the truth of those around him. Concerning you he sees only a Nazgûl, a rather powerful one and with me, a powerful friend he wants to protect.'_

"You are just protecting her," Er-Murazor muttered under what breath he did have left in the state of his current existence "I understand that much about you."

Sverundr bobbed his large head, seeming to understand every word the Witch-King had just said. Following up on this, Er-Murazor again took a step closer to the stallion as he continued to talk-no, to reason with Inconnu's true friend.

"You are not protecting her, not like this, not with the grave wounds she bears."

Sverundr stamped his hooves again but the Ringwraith went on.

"I know you do not trust me and... I understand." He faltered for a moment, barely noticeable. "I would not trust myself in your position either but you do not have a choice in the matter. Our current situation demands it."

Sverundr snorted loudly, eyeing the Chieftain of the Nine before him with complete suspicion, but remaining still as the Witch-King took another measured step towards him.

"Inconnu, your friend, needs my help Sverundr. I can help her heal as best I can but I cannot do even that if I cannot be at her side."

The large stallion reared again, but his hooves only reached a foot or two off the ground. Not as dramatic or threatening as the first few times and Er-Murazor took advantage of this opportunity. Ever since Inconnu had returned his blade to him it had never left his side, but now he slowly unsheathed it in full view of Sverundr and stabbed it into the ground between them. The stallion eyed the blade before looking at the Ringwraith, a very intelligent light in those deep brown eyes. Er-Murazor stared back, unflinching.

"You are of a special breed Sverundr, one of the Meara and able to see what others cannot. Inconnu told me you can see the truth of others, so what do you see?"

For the first time outside of combat, the Witch-King saw indecisiveness in the eyes of Sverundr as the horse stood still. It was obvious he was thinking things over and as the stallion did so Er-Murazor closed the distance between them with care until he was close enough to easily reach out and touch the large stallion. This startled Sverundr, but he made no move to harm the Ringwraith. Taking his advantage further Er-Murazor raised an ironclad hand and so very slowly began to stroke Sverundr behind his head and down his neck.

The Witch-King felt the vibrations of shiver that went through Sverundr, but the Meara stallion remained still and surprisingly calm. He continued to stroke the cold metal fingers of his gauntlet through Sverundr's thick black mane a few more times, saying quietly, "I can help her Sverundr, I need you to trust that I can help her get better."

Sverundr nickered softly and lowered his to head a bit as he looked down to where Inconnu lay unmoving. After patting Sverundr for a final time, the Witch-King made his way past the large stallion and was then near instantly at Inconnu's side.

She was still breathing, bringing much relief to him and he rolled her onto her side a little more so he could better inspect her wounds. What concerned him first were the laceration across her back, the wounds she took in his stead. This brought an odd feeling within the very depths of his dark being, but he pushed it aside as with further examination he found the wounds to be more bloody than deep.

It was the same with the injury to her left shoulder, looking worse than it actually was and Er-Murazor's worries were lessened with the knowledge of not having to seek out Elven healing.

He knew that Imladris was not too far from where they were currently, but the true difficulty would have lied in getting Inconnu there safely. Looking up from Inconnu, he spied for something to keep her comfortable and he found the blanket she normally slept with. He was quick in getting it and soon Inconnu was lying stomach-down on it, so not to disturb her wounds further while he then looked for the medical supplies she kept among her gear.

The Witch-King found them as well, taking a few rolls of bandages, clean cloths and a salve he discovered as well and when he returned to Inconnu's side he carefully removed her leather armor. Much of it was ruined and beyond repair, and the thick cloth that padded it was in no better condition. A small voice in the back of his head accused him of disrobing a young woman but he easily ignored it. This was repaying a debt, a life-debt it could be called. Inconnu had helped him even when he did not wish it and this was the least he could do for her.

To help her when she is unable to help herself.

And somehow, this reminded him of his own situation.

Once the ruined armor and cloth was removed enough and the injuries cleaned of the excess blood, he could see the wounds in their entirety he then suddenly stilled. Looking at the lacerations he knew that the black edges around each one was not there initially. Black veins also lurked in and around the wounds and Er-Murazor could sense the foul magic they strongly emanated, a magic that was all too like the curse he would cast upon his own Morgul blades. Instead of turning her into a wraith like him however, this poison was meant to kill.

The Witch-King was unmoving for some moments, processing the dangerous turn in Inconnu's situation before putting aside the medicinal supplies and standing once he made sure of her comfort. He walked out of the cave and was met by a very worried Sverundr and the Nazgûl was quick in his reply of, "Protect her, I need to find something to heal her." before vanishing into the nearby forest.

What he now searched for was the Athelas plant, a potent healing agent that he had been familiar with in his native Numenor. Er-Murazor knew that with this plant Inconnu's chances of survival would become greater and his pride demanded that he save her. However, he also knew he may now need to take her to the Elves of Rivendell for the Witch-King did not possess powers of healing. He was death, not life and that was something he knew well indeed and he refused to let his pride kill Inconnu if it came to that.

The Athelas plant was his best chance, but being so far into the Misty Mountains he was unsure if they managed to grow so far above the rest of the world. He had to try though, he had no other choice other than to leave Inconnu to her fate of certain death. Even when the very thought of abandoning her entered his mind he dismissed it fully. It hurt him to think of following through on that idea, deep where his had been long ago and he wondered why as he searched for the healing plant.

Fate favored his quest however and later in the day he found a small grouping of Athelas. Er-Murazor picked only enough to cover her wounds, leaving the rest to grow further and spread their seed to cover more of the treacherous peaks and his return to the cave was swift. The Witch-King found Sverundr not outside the cave but within, resting only a few feet away from Inconnu. Sverundr raised his large head and noticed the bunch of plants the Ringwraith carried and sniffed the air. It was familiar to him and Sverundr knew that Inconnu sometimes used it on herself to take care of her more dangerous wounds.

Clearly unable to do so herself in her current condition, Sverundr understood what the Nazgûl wanted to do. Sverundr too had sensed the poison that was intent on killing his rider and it had only increased his worry for his friend's survival. Er-Murazor, kneeling once again next to Inconnu, was about to put a bit of the Athelas on her lacerations when an idea came into his mind and it was not he did not push aside. The poison here was indeed similar to that of his Morgul blades, so similar in fact that perhaps he could draw it out and place it into something else.

Er-Murazor knew he had to act quickly, as Inconnu's breathing had become so shallow that to the untrained eye it was if she had stopped breathing altogether. He retrieved his sword from outside and when he was kneeling he held the dark blade across her shoulders and barely an inch from touching her pale skin. Sverundr tensed at the sight of the sword so close to his rider, especially with Inconnu in such a vulnerable state, but made no other move.

The Witch-King then began to work his own magic, subtle murmurings the only sound that could be heard. The blade began to move down the full length of the lacerations, progress painstakingly slowly but he worked with a steady hand and steeled patience. Nothing of note changed about the spider-webs of black poison once the blade reached the small of Inconnu's back, but Er-Murazor did not give in to any sort of despair and he was right not to. When he reversed the blade's journey to travel back up her back, the black tendrils that invaded her body receded quite a bit. Not enough to remove it, but enough for Sverundr to take note and from then on watched Er-Murazor's actions with and intentness that had nothing to do with suspicion.

The blade reached to stretch across her shoulders again and while it repeated the first motion the poison receded further and seemed to lift away from the wounds entirely. The foul stuff then latched onto the Witch-King's sword and did not return to Inconnu. It would take another two passes for the poison to fully leave Inconnu and cover his longsword, but once it was done and the now much more dangerous blade was securely sheathed Inconnu's body visible relaxed. The rise and fall of her upper body testified that she was breathing normally again and was not in danger of dying from the unnatural substance from the necromantic beasts.

Sverundr too relaxed, enough to shift his large form so he was more comfortable in the cave. He lowered his head only when the Witch-King gave a nod to say that she would be alright large stallion nickered and closed his eyes, now at least a little more trusting of the powerful black rider his own rider had drug up from the tomb.

Er-Murazor decided to crush the Athelas plant and mix it in with the basic slave she had with her supplies, then spread it across her back and shoulder generously. He bandaged her up with a gentleness none had ever seen before and when he was done with that he soon found the spare blanket she had given him only days before. This Er-Murazor used to give extra padding between Inconnu and the ground, and he found a light tunic to put in her in since her normal thick cloth one was very much unusable.

He felt comfortable with putting her on her back against the extra padding and double checking her condition he now discovered Inconnu had developed a light fever. The Witch-King was not worried for her however, as he believed in the strength of will the young white-haired woman possessed. The worst had already passed for her and now all he and Sverundr must do was wait for her to awake.

Knowing also that he and Sverundr were not bothered by the cold and Inconnu was, he looked around for anything that would work as a blanket for her. The Witch-King then noticed a large pelt among Sverundr's tack and briefly left her to grab it. Discovering it to be the pelt of a dire wolf, he took it from the saddlebags and moved back to Inconnu. He carefully draped the pelt over her, finding that it worked well as a makeshift blanket, and he took a sitting positon next to her while also leaning against the rough stone wall of the cave. Under the pelt, he lightly grasped onto her hand with his gauntleted one.

"Inconnu... I need you to wake for me." Er-Murazor then pleaded with her so quietly that Sverundr barely twitched an ear in his direction.

"I need you to wake and show me the light again."


	11. The Fragility of the Heart

" _The heart is one of the most powerful muscles we have... and the most fragile." -Sonya Teclai_

* * *

  _Inconnu was relieved when the pain disappeared, the darkness surrounding her. She felt utterly content in this place, despite not knowing wherever this was. If she were being more honest with herself, Inconnu did not really want to leave this place. She was very much at peace here in this strange darkness._

_"It is not your time yet, my Chosen," Came the familiar calm tones of Oromë. "You are healed, the recent danger has passed."_

_Inconnu felt momentarily confused, but found that she could not find her voice. A small, white light then appeared in front of her and she felt compelled to touch it. When she did, just barely with her fingertips, it suddenly grew and encompassed her entirely._

_"Return to him."_

* * *

Inconnu gasped, unable to open her eyes just yet and her breathing was erratic for a minute. She felt a warm, metal hand grasping onto hers tightly and with a more feeble grip, she squeezed back.

"Inconnu..." She heard Er-Murazor say and Inconnu opened her eyes.

To her surprise, she immediately saw his face, no darkness hiding it from her. This was clearest she had ever seen him and she was mesmerized by the actualization. His nearly black eyes looked incredibly sad and felt sad in turn. The worry lines the lost king of Numenor were prevalent on his pale features, a worry she realized was for her. Suddenly the side of her head was pressed against his chest, gently being held by Er-Murazor and leaving Inconnu in a confused state of mind, their hands still latched onto the other.

"You foolish woman..." He whispered into her ear, using a tone Inconnu found foreign of him to use.

Surely that weakened voice could not belong to the Witch-King of Angmar? The faintness of Inconnu's was more understanding and was raspy enough to almost be mistaken for that of a Ringwraith's.

"...Mura?" Inconnu managed to say, her confusion increasing.

He held her tighter against him, mindful of the bandages and wounds Inconnu could now feel.

"I... I thought I had lost you," Er-Murazor admitted, sounding not unsure of his words, but of himself. "You were mortally wounded..."

Inconnu pulled back a little so she could see Er-Murazor's face again and when their eyes met she smiled softly at him.

"Thank you Er-Murazor, it seems debts have been evened."

His dark eyes widened, mouth almost agape but his deeply ingrained Numenorian dignity refused to reveal his shock that much.

"Yes, it seems that way," He then carefully said, "A good thing that your fever broke only an hour ago as well-"

Er-Murazor stopped himself suddenly, his gauntleted hand holding onto her until her back was lowered onto the blankets again. Inconnu was again confused but it faded once a yawn escaped her and her eyes wanted to close. She could have sworn that Er-Murazor lets a soft smile slip onto his features.

"Take some more rest Inconnu, regain your strength."

Inconnu managed to catch before sleep, not unconsciousness, claimed her.

"We will talk more when you awake again."

_**Later...** _

Inconnu opened her eyes a few hours later, feeling stronger and she looked around. She was in the cave and the first thing she saw was Sverundr, very much asleep. She smiled, glad that her oldest companion was safe and moved her head to see the rest of the cave. A warm fire was between her and the cave entrance and outside she could see that it was deep into the night. Looking further past the flames and deeper into the shadows of the cave, Inconnu found the Witch-King sitting in them.

He was still, almost unnervingly so though Inconnu was quite used to it and his sword was in his hands and looked as if he was inspecting it. However, it was still sheathed and Inconnu knew that is attention was truly on her. Again, long moments passed between them and Inconnu soon enough found the courage to break that silence.

"You didn't leave."

Er-Murazor's dark hood lowered, replying in hoarse and measured tones, "No, I did not."

"Why?"

"I found that I could not," He paused, thinking something over before continuing with "I also found that my debt to you went beyond my rescue from the tomb of my brethren in Shadow."

Inconnu thought on this a moment before carefully pushing herself up so she could better see him past the light of the fire.

"What do you mean by that Er-Murazor?" She questioned him and he replied, his hood lifting so his hidden gaze could meet Inconnu's, "I have had much time to think about everything Inconnu, on things that have changed."

Inconnu encouraged him to continue. "And what things have changed?"

"It is not so confusing anymore."

Déjà vu washed over Inconnu. "What was?"

The Witch-King placed his longsword down on the ground beside him before standing and making his way to her. Once at her side, he knelt on the ground respectfully.

"You... myself..."

Inconnu's breath hitched in her throat and then he murmured as though almost to himself, "Can you truly see me as I once was?"

"I can see you as you once were Er-Murazor," Inconnu confirmed with no hesitation, her words a softly spoken whisper "I can see the man you can become again, should you wish it."

"Show me." Came his near-breathless appeal and Inconnu complied easily.

Inconnu's eyes took on a more silvery shine as in that moment in time she existed in both the seen and unseen planes of existence. For the fourth time, the Witch-King could see her as more than just a shadowy form with little detail, but only the second time he beheld her with a sense of awe.

Already he knew that she was of Numenorian blood, whether it be her mother or father he did not know and that her Numenorian parent was pure-blooded. Inconnu's features showed those proud marks of Numenorian nobility. The only things that show she herself was not pure-blooded herself were her more obvious Elven features and stark white hair. These only added more to her, adding refinement and an ethereal grace both on and off the battlefield.

All of this accumulated into an attraction he himself did not realize until he had almost lost her. Almost lost what he did not know he had within his grasp. A future unfulfilled and unrealized desire lost.

Looking closer within her eyes he saw a reflection of himself, bringing with it a feeling of utter shock.

His hair was as black as midnight. Dark eyes he possessed that held knowledge, mystery and sorrow. His skin was no paler than Inconnu's and the features of his face speaking of a true Numenorian king, strong and wise.

' _But not wise enough to refuse Annatar's gift of the ring.'_ came the sudden words of that inner voice and Er-Murazor did nothing to deny it.

Indeed, he had thought about much while Inconnu began to heal from her wounds.

The Lord of Carrion reached out a little and his hand, an actual hand, then barely caressed her jawline before pulling back hesitantly. It was though he tried to capture the image he saw in her silvery-grey eyes. His voice was again weak, Er-Murazor again willingly showing how defeated his defenses were before Inconnu.

"I see the reflection of myself in your eyes," He told her so easily "I see myself as you see me."

Inconnu reached up with her own hand and grasped his in hers, reminding him that she could touch him in this Shadow World and that he could truly feel the sensation of it. The Witch-King's head lowered, the long and straight black hair falling forward a bit, unable to look at her and instead focused on their intertwined fingers.

"How can you see me as such a man?" He asked of her faintly and Inconnu smiled softly as she replied, "It is a reflection of who you were, of who you still are. The man beneath the corruption wrought against you."

She then moved their joined hands and pressed them lightly against his chest, right above where his heart would beat. It was still there and all it needed was for it to be freed. In reaction to this, the Witch-King looked up at her and could not look away as she spoke, saying words that came to her in a trance.

"Your heart is your own Er-Murazor, just as my heart is my own."

Her head leaned closer to his and through his own instincts, Er-Murazor did the same, noses barely brushing the other.

"My heart is yours and with it, I free yours from the corruption."

Without a second thought, Inconnu pressed her lips against his, an almost painful warmth flooding her heart though not rejected. Instead it was embraced and Inconnu knew without a doubt that Er-Murazor was not unaffected and that he was feeling the same warmth. This was proven when he kissed her back, his free hand finding its way to the side of her head and cupping her jawline. It pulled her closer as he deepened their kiss, their first kiss and Inconnu responded with her free hand moving to grasp at his dark robes.

Almost haphazardly and accidentally, Inconnu fell back down onto her back which brought the Witch-King down with her. This made her back and left shoulder sting, but she ignored this as she continued to kiss her Morgul Lord. Er-Murazor made minor note of their collapse to the ground below, compensating for this by now having the forearm of that free arm keep his weight from crushing Inconnu.

Soon enough however, Inconnu had to break their kiss as unlike Er-Murazor she needed to breath. Taking in shallow breaths, her eyes stared into his again, anticipating his next action. The Witch-King then put his forehead against hers and moved their hands of fingers still intertwined so that they now rested over Inconnu's heart, which beat fast. His voice held more emotion than it ever had before and his lips gave her the first genuine smile she never thought to witness.

"And my heart is yours, Inconnu Naeril."


	12. Old Wounds, New Hopes

_"I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes." -Unknown_

* * *

  ** _Third Age, 3019_**

Dawn made itself known to those residing in the cave, bringing light and warmth with its arrival.

This brought wakefulness to Inconnu Naeril, who cracked her eyes open a bit and when she stretched to loosen her muscles she again found herself restricted by a pair of warm arms. She smiled to herself and looked up, knowing that Er-Murazor was still deep in sleep, and made no move to leave his embrace lest she wake him. He deserved to rest, they both did.

Four days had passed since she woke from her fever, and four days since she had freed yet another part of the Witch-King's very being from Sauron's corruption. The freeing of his heart had brought interesting and wonderful changes to the Nazgûl's entire demeanor. Things that she had noticed before, once only fragments and fleeting moments, were now more than that and the greatest changes were towards herself.

Er-Murazor was more embracing of his new-found emotions certainly, though still unused to voicing them aloud. He preferred speaking with action rather than words in this case, and he conveyed much whenever he held her close. Another reason he remained close to her was to help her in moving around once she was well enough to stand and walk around. This time he aided her, but they knew there was not a debt being repaid for there were no debts between them anymore. No longer was it the reason they remained in each other's company.

Love, though still the greatest mystery for them both, was the binding force between them.

Inconnu closed her eyes and relaxed against him, more than content to remain in his arms for a while longer. She basked in the warmth of both the rising sun and the warmth of Er-Murazor's embrace, and after perhaps half an hour had passed Inconnu began to feel that the Witch-King was beginning to stir from his sleep.

He shifted slightly in place before his arms tightened around her a little more. Next, she felt a hand caress up her back before an ironclad finger began the gentle motions of brushing her cheek. Inconnu relaxed further into Er-Murazor, falling further into utter contentment, and she felt the deep rumblings of a low chuckle from his chest. It was strange, how he was able to do things such as talking but without breathing. His broad chest did not rise nor fall with the motions of lungs taking and releasing life-giving air. To all her other senses, exempting sight and sound, the Witch-King was dead though he was there with her as though he were living.

Inconnu supposed that this was but one facet of being a Ringwraith. Cursed as neither living or dead for they are, for all intents and purposes, dead but having never truly died.

She wondered about his own thoughts, of what they were to do now that everything has changed between them. What were they to do? War was on the horizon, nothing could stop that now. It was as inevitable as the setting sun and the rising of the moon, something that no living creature on Middle Earth could escape. The Men of the West would confront the strengthening darkness of Mordor and Sauron's wrath, and the conflict would reshape the future of everything.

Inconnu knew how she and the High Nazgûl had fit into the conflict before they had ever met. She was-is-the Huntress of the North, the greatest defender of Middle Earth against the raging and almost forgotten darkness of the Hithaeglir. He was, and still is, the Witch-King of Angmar, Sauron's Black Captain and the foremost of the Nine. There was no doubt in Inconnu's mind that they have both changed quite a bit from where they once stood, titles notwithstanding, but the reality of the world to the east where Gondor and Mordor lay would not ignore them for long.

Both would have to return, but she struggled with imagining leaving Er-Murazor alone.

Not when she was so close now to freeing him completely from Sauron's darkness.

The stroking of her cheek ceased, the metal finger leaving it, but Inconnu could not miss it for long before the faint sensation of lips pressed against her forehead. She was surprised to feel his kiss at all, since she was not visiting the world in which he was cursed to reside. It was another reminder that he was not truly dead, though there were few things he could personally do the affect the world around him.

"Inconnu," Er-Murazor's hoarse baritone interrupted her thoughts. "Inconnu we must rise and move on from here. Already we have lingered for too long."

She sighed faintly and opened her eyes enough to see that the Witch-King was looking at her, and she could tell well enough despite the darkness of his deep hood that he was admiring her. His hand had now strayed to her hair, his forefinger and thumb playing with a few strands of her pure-white hair.

"How do you possess such hair Inconnu?" He absentmindedly asked, not expecting an answer, but she gave one to him.

"I assume from my father, for my mother was full-blooded Numenorean."

She could sense the raised eyebrow Er-Murazor responded with.

"Is that so? Have you his name?"

Inconnu shook her head. "Only that he was of the Sindar. I do not know if he is even still among the living."

"You have never sought him out?"

"It troubled me that I did know him when I was younger under my mother's care, but I have moved on and guarding the west from the restless darkness of the Misty Mountains kept me busy. Rarely does thought of my unknown father cross my mind these days."

Er-Murazor made no further inquiries into the matter, silently twisting strands of her hair between his fingertips. He wondered slightly of his own past, back when he was properly mortal, but those ancient memories of Numenor were still enshrouded in a black-grey fog. Still just out of his ironclad grasp. This did not mean however that he did not possess a small amount of hope in regaining those memories, for the woman in his arms had made sure that he did have hope for a future in the true light of the sun.

Long moments passed before he ceased playing with her hair, and Inconnu gave him a gentle smile before attempting to sit up. Er-Murazor rose with her, helping her sit up comfortably before standing. He offered her a gauntleted hand and she took it without hesitation, and then she was standing next to him. Inconnu wavered slightly upon standing and he steadied her. Another smile for him, and together at a careful place they left the cave.

Upon exiting, Sverundr was there to greet them with a friendly whinny.

The large stallion nuzzled up to Inconnu first, and she gave in to his demands for a petting. Er-Murazor knew Sverundr would keep Inconnu on her feet as he left them briefly to gather the stallion's tack. First was the blanket of furs and the saddle, and Sverundr didn't flinch when the Nazgûl placed them on his back. A bridge had been built between them, not as strong as the bond between the stallion and Inconnu, but one forged of a trust for the sake of Inconnu. There may be a time in the far future that they would form their own bond, but for now their current connection was strong enough to hold.

Next came the bridle, which Sverundr allowed to slip over with ease, and immediately Inconnu's gear was packed and secured behind the saddle. The Witch-King double checked everything, which included the removal of any sign of their stay. They did not wish to be tracked and it was best for them to remain undetected for as long as they could. Inconnu needed to heal and running blindly would not help her.

Er-Murazor turned to Inconnu and said quietly, as though not to alert any unseen ears, "Let us go now Inconnu, it is long road ahead of us."

Inconnu looked to him and nodded. "We shall, but the road is not so dangerous now."

She moved herself to where she stood beside the Witch-King, and placed her hands upon the saddle where she would normally hoist herself up from. Due to her injuries however, she needed aid and Er-Murazor placed his ironclad hands on her waist. With unnatural strength, he hoisted Inconnu up on the saddle, and once he was sure she was stable he in turn mounted the saddle behind her. Sverundr shifted in place a little, adjusting to the added unfamiliar weight, and turned to looked at his two riders with a large brown eye.

Both knew he was asking who would take the reins, and with a small smile Inconnu deferred to Er-Murazor. In further response, she leaned back into his chest, perfectly content to remain there.

He took ahold of the reins and encouraged Sverundr into a light canter, to which the Meara stallion complied. The Chieftain of the Nine released a small sigh of relief and the went on their way back to the east where the true danger lied. He had the burrowing sensation in his un-beating heart that he would have to part from Inconnu, if not soon then when the reach the true battlefield of the war.

**Isengard**

It was impressive of Saruman to maintain such a serious composure in the face of his master's wrath.

"Your Ravageruk hav failun alnej Saruman. Ul Hunavreukuk ro avhe Noravh hauk beukavun avhem inn avhe arav ro avhe Hunav agh mausan Wiavch-Kaumn nauk-mainuk miukukamn. Nalkren evinaj your ukilver-avongue galin avik failunak?"

_Your Ravagers have failed me Saruman. The Huntress of the North has bested them in the art of the Hunt and my Witch-King remains missing. How would your silver-tongue explain this failure?_

Oh yes, it was impressive indeed to keep composure when confronting such unveiled anger.

Saruman hid a deep breath, and attempted to appease his lord's rage.

"My master, the Ravagers were the most cruel and vicious creatures I knew of, more so than the Uruk-hai. Their violent Hunt was, in theory, the best way to end the Wanderer's own Hunt for your greatest servant. Oromë has certainly given her his blessing, for I can think of no other way she could have survived the pair."

The fallen Istari felt the waves of hatred from the palantír in his hand when the spoke of the Great Hunter of the Valar. It was clear the Sauron held no fond memories of the Vala, nor did he for any of the others. He did not care much even when Morgoth was dragged to the void.

"Theausan alwayuk gimb ij waausan avo meden wiav mausan planuk! Lat beukav gimb anoavhas waausan avo rid avhe Hunavreukuk ro avhe Noravh lav-li life agh ukoon Saruman!"

_They always find a way to meddle with my plans! You best find another way to rid the Huntress of the North her life and soon Saruman!_

"If we cannot return him to the battlefield? You still have eight others at your every command. Khamul has done a fine job in his leader's stead." Saruman pointed out to the Lord of Mordor, and Sauron contemplated this.

"Um your oavhas planuk liwo, jiak ukhall conukidas naj-ri for ij highas poukiavion. Howvr, lat know auk nalal auk jiak do avhaav avhe Eaukaverlaumn doeuk noav poukukeukuk avhe ukame proweukuk ro ukavraavegausan agh magicuk auk avhe Wiavch-Kaumn."

_If your other plans will, I shall consider him for a higher position. However, you know as well as I do that the Easterling does not possess the same prowess of strategy and magic as the Witch-King._

Oh, Saruman knew this quite well, having attempted before to deceive the Lord of the Nazgûl. It ended very badly and he was surprised that the Witch-King hadn't killed him then and there when the deception was found out.

The connection then ended abruptly, and Saruman knew that the Great Eye's attention had been drawn elsewhere. Already both sides of the conflict were prepared for a battle on a massive scale, the likes of unseen in Middle Earth since the long days past of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves.

He replaced the palantír back on its prominent pedestal and covered it with the black cloth once again. Then he left the room and made his way down his black tower, alternate plans already forming in his mind to the rid himself of the distraction that was Inconnu Naeril.


	13. A Painful Parting

_"Beware of parting! The true sadness is not in the pain of the parting; it is in the when and the how you are to meet again with the face about to vanish from your view." -Edward Bulwer-Lytton_

* * *

**_Two Days Later..._ **

_Er-Murazor knew he had fallen asleep again. However, whenever he had fallen asleep it was dreamless and so this was certainly a new experience._

_Very, very new._

_He didn't quite know how to take it though, as dreaming seemed a little too like the feeling he gets when he makes himself more aware of the Shadow World he has been a part of for thousands of years. The Witch-King of Angmar found himself unnerved, but pushed it aside in favor of focusing on his surroundings, guard surely up._

_Trees of many different kinds reached high into the sky above him, of which it was of many colors of light blue shades. The trees themselves were of every color of green one could imagine. Birds were singing their songs and a multitude of forest critters ran around every which way. Very different than the silence and instinctive fear he had become so accustomed to._

_Er-Murazor found himself then in a state of awe, for he had never before seen such vibrancy of life. In the face of so much vitality he was humbled, but it also stung how odds were against him in ever rejoining life and truly living. When the Lord of Carrion had accepting the ring that would ultimately curse him he did not care, even when he discovered his new state of existence._

_Anything to escape death and to make sure that he would never be forgotten._

_And he had succeeded to that degree, but standing here in this great forest he began to remember more._

_It terrified him with each piece of memory revealed from the shadowed parts of his mind._

_In the corner of his eye he then spied a particular tree of white bark and golden-orange leaves as though it believed that the season was fall in contrast to the summer mood of the rest of the forest. He felt compelled to inspect it closer and he did so, only to find that the white bark of the tree was marred. A thin black cut stretched across the white surface, and Er-Murazor traced the deep cut with metal-encased fingers._

_"I appreciate that you took your anger out on the tree in the end rather than my Chosen." A calm, deep voice broke into the air, making the Witch-King react by whirling round to see who had spoken._

_It was a tall man, mildly lean in figure and towered even over his own stature, and was dressed in the cloth and furs of a hunter. Shining green eyes, so easily comparable to the richness of emeralds, looked back at him as the stranger continued to speak with a small smile._

_"Surely, the effort put into your redemption would have been for naught."_

_"Effort?" The Nazgûl asked the stranger, and he nodded as he replied, "Yes, this is the culmination of quite a few things. It was hard enough to convince Mandos of the greater potential of you, Er-Murazor, and Inconnu Naeril."_

_Eyes cloaked in the darkest shadows widened. "Mandos?! Then you are...!"_

_"Oromë the Hunter, friend of the Sindar and guide to the Huntress of the North." The strange hunter introduced himself, and Er-Murazor backed away a few steps in awe and fear. One of the Valar stood before him, and thoughts of punishment ran through his mind. Though Sauron had never spoken to him of the war he fought and lost when Morgoth was still around, the High Nazgûl had the feeling that what had happened to the former dark lord had not been pleasant._

_"I am not Mandos Witch-King of Angmar, and I am not here to give out punishment." Oromë reassured Er-Murazor. "The time for that has long been irrelevant. My Chosen has brought you close to the light and my fellow Valar have agreed to forgive you should you fully return to the world of the living."_

_"And if I do not?" The Witch-King was curious as to what would have happened, as he remembered that Inconnu had mentioned long ago that if she had refused to save him then his fate was in the hands of another._

_The Great Hunter's smile faded into one of absolute seriousness, and with a hand waved away the lush forest and it was replaced t=by the harshness of a battlefield._

_They stood in a clearing, great armies clashing around them. Er-Murazor saw the towering elephants and Easterlings astride them. The Rohirrim were racing all around on their horses, effective on the plain where they stood. The Witch-King also saw his brethren flying upon great Fell Beasts, diving and killing those unaware of what lurked in the faint light of the dawn. Orcs too were in a blood-fury, killing anything that came within reach of their blades._

_But none saw the Chieftain of the Nine nor the Vala with him._

_Oromë gestured to the scene before them, focusing Er-Murazor's attention to himself in combat with a lean man. He wore a rough helm of iron with spikes sticking out to make its crown, while the man he fought was in the traditional garb of the riders of Rohan. As a shade Er-Murazor watched as he swung both sword and Morningstar at his opponent, who dodged and found it difficult to strike against the fury of the Witch-King._

_"What is this?" Er-Murazor asked Oromë, who replied with utter solemnity, "What your fate would have been if not for my Chosen's intervention."_

_His rival's shield then took the brunt of the Morningstar and it shattered upon impact. The rider of Rohan fell to the ground, clutching his arm in obvious pain as the Lord of Minas Morgul towered above him._

_"No man can slay me!"_

_He raised his sword high as to deliver the finishing blow and a small battle cry heard. A little person also dressed a warrior come from Rohan came charging from the sidelines and with a dagger stabbed the Witch-King in the back of his knee._

_This dropped the Ringwraith with a fierce screech to his knees and the rider he had been fighting stood, and then to Er-Murazor's shock the rider threw off his helm to reveal that his opponent had not been a man at all but a woman._

_"I am no man!" The wildly blond woman declared to the Black Captain of Despair before thrusting her sword deep into the iron helm._

_It was then that the Er-Murazor saw his death, a true end to his existence, before the scene faded away back into the vibrant forest. Er-Murazor was in shock and found himself speechless for several long moments. Oromë allowed for peace to settle in before he began to speak in calm tones._

_"You are nearly free from Sauron, your mind and heart now within your possession once again. There is only your soul to free, the final and greatest challenge you and Inconnu must face."_

_The Morgul-Lord in his company did not respond, but Oromë knew that he had his attention and he continued._

_"You know how this is to be achieved, do you not?"_

_A faint and hoarse response came from the depths of the dark hood._

_"I do know it."_

_Oromë gazed into the hood, the shadows unable to hide the visage of the Witch-King from his sight. His gaze was serious and his tone holding the slight tones of warning._

_"You must not tell her, Er-Murazor."_

* * *

The Witch-King awoke with a start, as though he had awoken from some terrible nightmare. To him, it almost was one but for the fact he remembered every detail perfectly. He knew it was no mere dream, more of a vision and that he did indeed stand in the presence of one of the Valar. Something shifted in his arms and he looked down, his breathing now steady.

Inconnu was still peacefully asleep and was warm in his arms. A warmth he never thought to feel again after spending so long in the Shadow World. He smiled softly and he pushed a stray lock of snow-white hair from her face, and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he could have sworn that a smile graced her lips.

"Forgive me one day Inconnu, but this is for your protection from Sauron."

He gently removed her from his grasp, making she was comfortable and warm before standing and leaving the small canopy of trees they had found shelter under for the night. Er-Murazor stopped once he was a few yards away, and his tone was both confident and longing as he whispered into the night air.

"I know you will find me again, my heart."

Then he continued to walk, and he journeyed to a small rise in the path far from the encampment. Dawn was still many hours away when he reached that rise, but he deemed it far enough away from Inconnu and Sverundr. He took a deep breath, calmed his inner thoughts, and opened his mind to his master.

The connection was instant, and Sauron's voice a deep and foreboding in the black tongue of Mordor.

_'Lat hav bene gon for ukome avime, mausan Wiavch-Kaumn ro Angmar.'_

_You have been gone for some time, my Witch-King of Angmar._

"Yes, it has been so my master."

Calling Sauron his master now left a bitter taste on his tongue, but for Inconnu's sake he had to maintain this servitude.

_'Whaav hauk kepav lat from your breavhren? Whaav blockun your hugi avo alnej?'_

_What has kept you from your brethren? What blocked your mind to me?_

"It was the Huntress of the North, a warrior of skill and practitioner of a magic I found unable to name."

_'Inavereukaving, buav whaav ro avhe Wanderer'uk faave?'_

_Interesting, but what of the Wanderer's fate?_

"She slayed the dark wolves that attacked her nearly a week ago, but was so weakened afterwards I took the advantage and ended her life. It is has only been know that whatever influence he had over me as waned enough to make contact."

A few moments passed in silence, and the Witch-King knew that his master was thinking the explanation over. He only hoped that it was enough to convince the dark lord of Mordor.

_'Saruman iuk overconfidenav shal avhe abiliavieuk ro hiuk ukpieuk, agh iuk aluko largat avoo diukavracavun wiavh avhe rumblinguk ro avhe fangorn foreukav. Shal addiavion, najor iuk noav, agh nevas gelnaj be, auk loyal auk lat mausan Goth ro Minauk Morgul.'_

_Saruman is overconfident in the abilities of his spies, and is also far too distracted with the rumblings of the Fangorn Forest. In addition, he is not, and never could be, as loyal as you my Lord of Minas Morgul._

He had done it.

_'Jiak ukhall ukend ni ro your breavhren avo nauk-avrieve lat along wiavh ij fell beaukav ro your ownar. Jiak expecav lat avo nauk-avurn avo Minauk Morgul agh prepare an ushtar avo march par Minauk Tiriavh.'_

_I shall send one of your brethren to retrieve you along with a Fell Beast of your own. I expect you to return to Minas Morgul and prepare an army to march on Minas Tirith._

"War shall come to the Men of West, and shall fall like the Men of the North." Er-Murazor agreed, and the presence of Sauron faded from his mind though lingered in the background. It was worth it though, in order to keep the Great Eye's attention away from Inconnu.

And so, he waited for the Fell Beasts and his brother in shadow to collect him for the coming battle.


	14. To Pursue the Heart's Desire

" _Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire. " -Unknown_

* * *

Inconnu woke up with an empty feeling.

For the first time in nearly two weeks Inconnu felt empty inside and this unnerved her greatly. It was only after a few moments of shifting around underneath the cover of the Dire Wolf pelt that she opened her eyes and saw exactly what was wrong.

Er-Murazor was nowhere to be seen.

She sat up suddenly and looked around the campground which they had pitched for the night. Still, he was nowhere to be seen. She stood on shaky feet and her eyes stared into every direction she could think of to find evidence of his remaining presence. Even looking around further she could see no trail that led from the camp and the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach grew worse.

"Sverundr," She called to her companion, her voice shaking ever so slightly, trying to maintain composure. The large stallion rose from his resting spot and was immediately at her side, nuzzling her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her anxiety. It worked to a degree, but the growing fears of Er-Murazor's absence was proving to be stronger.

"He can't have left," Inconnu muttered to herself, "We're not in any immediate danger. There's no reason to separate at this time." Then she added much more quietly, "Not when he's so close to freedom."

"You are correct Inconnu," A new voice broke into the air, deep and calm. "On the surface there is no immediate danger for you and the Witch-King of Angmar."

Inconnu looks to her immediate right and saw her patron Oromё, the Great Hunter of the Valar, standing there in his armor of chainmail and furs, his great bow slung across his back as well as his hunting horn. She was then put into a slight shock when she realized that she was not dreaming, that he was physically in front of her.

The smile on his features grew wider as he saw the questions in her grey gaze.

"I frequent Middle Earth often my Chosen, this is no strange occurrence."

"O-of course," Inconnu managed to get out, and then noticed that the Great Hunter was not alone. In his hand he held reins of fine leather, which led the equally fine leatherwork of the bridle of a finer stallion. His coat was of a shining white, mane and tail almost silver in the morning sunlight, and the stallion at Oromё's side possessed dark eyes filled with wisdom and great knowledge.

Sverundr nickered to the other stallion, bobbing his head slightly in excitement. The white stallion returned this and Oromё smiled before letting go of the reins. Inconnu watched in interest as Sverundr and the white stallion greeted each other with obvious familiarity. Oromё noted her interest and gave explanation.

"You already know that Sverundr is one of the Mearas, but you did not know his lineage. Your stallion's sire is my own, whereas his mother was a true descendant of Felaróf. Nahar has been my companion since the beginning, and so shall Sverundr be for you and yours until the end."

This was a grand revelation, and Inconnu had to ask, "So the little colt who kept me from falling was truly waiting for me?"

"Yes, he is yours as you are his. This has always been so since his birth."

Her heart warmed at this, appreciating Sverundr even more than she already did. The large stallion was a better friend than she could ever ask for. A true friend indeed. However, her feelings were still torn from Er-Murazor's absence. She had gotten so used to him being around that him suddenly missing from her side was something felt keenly. Oromё knew this as well, and his calm tones also adopted ones of soothing.

"Dry your tears Inconnu, he left of his own volition to protect you from Sauron."

Inconnu hadn't realized that she had been crying, and quickly wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her plain cotton shirt before meeting the emerald gaze of the Vala again.

"You will see him again, and it shall be sooner than you think. He is right where he needs to be, for now all must return to their proper places for soon the fate of Middle Earth shall be decided upon the battlefield. The Witch-King of Angmar must lead the Mordor Host against the Men of the West, and so you should also get to where you need to be my Chosen."

"And where is my place?"

"Minas Tirith, and there you shall ally yourself with friends again. It is there that the light shall make a last stand against the darkness that seeks to claim all again."

This news brought a hesitant smile to Inconnu's fine features, as she was glad to hear that she would be rejoining with friends, but it was hesitant due to the nature of their rejoining. Inconnu had never been in a war, having been too young to have fought in any of them nor in any of the battles of the following aftermath. Her time spent in the far northern reaches of the Hithaeglir made sure that was kept away from any war between men, elves, and dwarves. News had come slow to her as well, but she had thought nothing of it for many centuries.

War was something far different than a fight with a creature of darkness, no matter how great that creature was.

A large hand then made itself known on her shoulder, comforting in its grip, and she looked up to see Oromё. His expression was one Inconnu had seen on many father's faces, one of pride and great expectation for their children.

"You will have time enough to prepare for war Inconnu, but now you must race to Minas Tirith and with all haste."

Inconnu raised a slim eyebrow slightly in question. "I chased after Er-Murazor all the way to the High Fells of Rhudaur and even then it took me nearly two months. How can I achieve the same in less time back to Gondor?"

There was a knowing glint in the emerald-green eyes of the Vala.

"There is a favorite hunting trail of mine that I use often when here on Middle Earth. I have gifted many of my favorite hunters access to the path and so I shall do the same with you."

Inconnu's eyes widened. "You don't mean…?"

Oromё nodded. " _The True Hunter's Path._ "

The woman that was the Huntress of the North was overcome with great pride at earning this privilege. The True Hunter's Path was a trail that would lead to the destination the hunter desired, and at the right time in which the greatest of hunts would commence. For Inconnu she still hunted the Witch-King, to all others meaning to end the threat he posed to Middle Earth, but to her and the select few who knew it was a hunt for his freedom from Sauron's corrupting darkness.

"How will I know that I am on the path?"

Oromё looked to their horses, their greatest companions, and then back to her with a knowing look.

"Sverundr now knows the way, for Nahar has always known and has now passed down the knowledge to his true descendant. He will guide you along the path, and you shall both arrive in Minas Tirith when you arrive at the precise moment you are required."

Inconnu nodded and when Sverundr returned to her she rubbed his nose in that familiar gesture. He whinnied softly and nudged his nose further into her hand, bringing back a smile to her lips. When she looked back up she saw that Oromё had mounted Nahar and was still at her with that pride in his eyes. A moment of silence, of deep understanding, passed between them, and he imparted a few last words to her.

"Be strong in the inevitable battles to come Inconnu, you need to remain strong not only for yourself but for Er-Murazor as well. Now make haste to Minas Tirith!"

Nahar then reared and in a flash both stallion and rider vanished deep into the forest. Inconnu was a little star-struck by this display, but was brought back to earth with a nudge from Sverundr. He then pointedly looked at his tack and her gear, then at her. Inconnu's smile widened ever so slightly.

"You're right old friend, we should make haste after all!"

Tack was cinched, gear packed away and secured, and Inconnu instinctively reached for her usual longsword before  _Ghost's Song_  caught her eye. The silver coloring of the pommel and cross-piece shined in the sunlight, and Inconnu glanced between her longtime weapon and the enchanted one. After another moment of hesitation, she secured  _Ghost's Song_  to her waist and the other blade to the saddle. With grace she mounted the saddle and once she had grasp of the reins Sverundr bolted into a strong gallop.

Within seconds she felt the very air and land change, a more magical feel to it all, now apparent. Inconnu was on the True Hunter's Path, and now they made their way to Minas Tirith.

Again, she chased after the Witch-King of Angmar.

Again, she raced after what should be impossible.

But this time, she also chased after her heart and the hope that she would not be too late to save him.

**Author's Note:**

> Originaly posted on FanFiction.net
> 
> His Corrupted Heart started October of 2016 and was completed August of 2017.
> 
> (Don't own LOTR, just my own inventions)


End file.
